Eye for an eye
by otherhawk
Summary: COMPLETE! 'The More Things Change' Verse. Saul gets back from a job to find something unexpected waiting for him
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Ocean's 11. But then, we all know that by now. **

**A/N: First chapter of a new story. And more of a prologue, than a chapter. It's very short, basically, and I apologise for that, but I liked the ending line too much to let it go, and I'm going to update this one every Monday morning until it's done. It's my Monday story.**

**A/N2: For InSilva. Who still doesn't know the answer to the question but is being very, very patient. Relatively speaking.**

**A/N3: Set in 'The More Things Change' verse. Though am unsure how much this matters.  
**

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Saul got in at a little after midnight, tripping neatly over the pile of newspapers and junk mail and bills that had piled up in the hall. He sighed; one of these days he was going to remember to stop the papers before he went away. Tomorrow's problem. Definitely tomorrow's problem. He'd been in Dallas this morning and Tulsa the evening before that and right now all he wanted was to get a good night's sleep.

He must have slept for nearly nine hours. And, when he woke up and headed through into the living room, he saw there was another paper and even more junk mail stacked up in the hall. That was just terrific.

He glanced through it quickly. Couple of bills, couple of free catalogues, one of those envelopes for some public safety campaign - 'Do you know where your children are?' it asked and he wondered what they'd say if he wrote back and pointed out he didn't have any - and a letter proclaiming him to be the potential lucky winner of fifty thousand dollars. Definitely junk. He dropped the lot on the counter.

Coffee and a bagel and today's paper and he gazed at the news and idly wondered what he was going to do with the rest of the week. No major plans. Nothing that was demanding his urgent attention. And after everything with Graham this past week, he could really use some downtime. He smiled; he could check in with the boys tomorrow afternoon. Make sure that they hadn't been getting in too much trouble. There was something to look forward to.

Difficult to believe that he'd only known them two years; they were just such an important part of his life now. He thought of the last time he'd seen them, ten days ago, at the close of the Ashworth job, Rusty, smiling and happy, practically glowing, his bow tie hanging loose around his neck, his pocket full of pearls, holding the slice of cheesecake that Saul had picked up for him, while Danny stood at his shoulder, amused and affectionate and indulgent.

The job had gone smoothly, and it had been Danny's idea, not his. Danny's wild, fantastic soaring idea, and Rusty had been the one to make it work, finding the impossible information, filling in the details that brought the idea to life. Saul had just been along for the ride. Enjoying every second of it. Suffused with a pride that he'd never felt before two years ago.

He couldn't imagine giving that feeling up for anything.

He smiled again; maybe he'd go see them today instead.

Idly, he glanced again at the pile of mail and frowned. Something had caught his eye. Something that had stood out as being wrong.

He sorted through the mail again, carefully this time, discarding the bills and the magazines. He paused at the public safety envelope. It was thicker than he'd expect from that sort of thing. As if there was a lot in it. But that wasn't what he'd noticed.

There was a thumbprint stained on the back of the envelope, sealing it down. It looked like it had been made in blood.

He took a deep breath. If this was a marketing campaign, it really was going the extra mile. If this was a marketing campaign, they could have his money.

With trembling hands he gently pulled the envelope open. A small pile of photographs fell out.

Rusty and Danny eating dinner together in the Italian restaurant on the corner.

Rusty and Danny standing on the steps of their apartment building, laughing and in the middle of conversation.

Rusty and Danny playing poker in the backroom of some bar somewhere.

Danny, sitting with a girl in a coffee shop.

Rusty, sleeping in bed.

The words on the envelope screamed up at him_. _"_Do you know where your children are?_"


	2. Chapter 2

For a moment the world was spinning and he was grabbing onto the counter for support, his fingers clenched tight, his knuckles white.

The pictures...

He didn't know who. Didn't have the first idea. But he couldn't stop looking and he could see that the boys had no idea that they were being watched, they were as relaxed and carefree as he could imagine, and someone had been following them, stalking them, getting inside their defences.

The picture of Danny with the girl, his hand on her knee, his eyes smiling, leaning in close, was almost - _almost _- as bad as the picture of Rusty lying in the moonlight, the covers thrown back, young and vulnerable.

He didn't want to think that anyone could get that close. Didn't like to think of someone standing in Rusty's bedroom, standing over him, close enough to touch and Rusty unknowing.

Vulnerable. That was what these photos were telling him. The boys were vulnerable and this sick bastard with a camera could get to them whenever he wanted.

The fear was screaming through him and he was in the hall before he knew it, and the phone was clutched tight in his hand and he was dialling their number.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

Let them answer. Please, please let them answer, because he would give anything to hear their voices right now.

Eventually, after a lifetime, it cut off.

Okay. It might not mean the worst. It was midday; they were probably out. A thousand places they might be living their lives right now. He would find them - he would_ find_ them - and he'd keep them safe while they all figured out the whos and the whats and the whys.

All ready to head out, start the search at their apartment, and he hesitated. Because it might not mean the worst, but it might. And he had no idea what he was walking into. He should make sure someone knew where he was going. He owed it to the boys to make sure he wasn't their only hope.

Bobby was at work. Saul phoned him anyway.

That was strange, in a way. Three years ago, Bobby would never have been his first phone call. Would barely have been on the list. Three years ago, Bobby was someone he knew through Reuben, and they'd worked one, short job together, and he'd liked the younger man, found him quick and competent and almost frighteningly efficient, but they hadn't been _friends. _

Three years ago, that had been true. Then, a little over two years ago, in Vegas, two nights after he'd first met Rusty and Danny, he'd got the call from Bobby, full of careful threats and warnings, making sure that he understood how things were, making sure that he understood that Bobby had vouched for him, and Bobby was taking that seriously. "_They're good kids," _Bobby had said, and it hadn't taken Saul long to know that they were far more than that.

Mutual friends, a common interest, and he'd worked far more often with Bobby since then. He liked Bobby. He trusted Bobby. And Bobby could find things out that no one else could.

"It's me," he said, as soon as Bobby answered, and he could hear the silence at the other end of the phone get more focused. No one called Bobby at work unless it was serious. "There could be trouble. Bad trouble."

"What?" Bobby asked sharply.

"Someone sent me some pictures." He swallowed hard. "Surveillance pictures. Of the boys. I'm going over to their place now. Thought you should know."

"I'll be there as soon as I can," Bobby said immediately, and Saul supposed that he should be glad that Bobby hadn't asked him to wait. He wouldn't have. Not for a second.

"You should stay where you are until we know what's going on," he objected. "So I can reach you."

"You need me, call Molly," Bobby told him. "I'll check in with her every hour until I get there."

"Right," Saul agreed, because arguing was taking time and he couldn't afford to waste another second of that, not when he'd wasted so much already.

He hung up the phone and he was out the door, hoping, praying that he was going to ring the doorbell and they were going to be there, safe and well and unharmed.

* * *

There was no answer at the door no matter how many times he knocked and he told himself again that this wasn't unexpected, that this didn't mean anything. Really, they could be anywhere. Doing anything. Could be out of town, even.

Didn't stop the worry. Didn't stop the fear.

(_Do you know where your children are, it had asked, and he didn't, he didn't._)

He pulled the keys out from the bottom of his pocket and worked on getting the door open.

It had been a year ago that Danny had handed him the spare set of keys. "Here," he'd said simply. "For emergencies."

Saul had blinked, knowing - as all of them did - that there was no real point to the gesture, that if Saul needed to get into their apartment there was no way a locked door would stop him - and he'd looked past Danny to Rusty, leaning against the wall and looking uncomfortable, and Rusty had met Saul's eyes and shrugged and Saul had understood.

It was a point about trust. Finally given and absolute.

He didn't want to let them down. He _never _wanted to let them down.

He got the door open a half second later and stepped inside and in an instant his fists were clenched and it was all he could do not to scream.

The apartment had been trashed.

The sofa was upturned, the TV smashed beyond repair, shelves were lying broken on the ground, pictures ripped off the wall, the door of the fridge hanging off, a broken bottle lying on the kitchen counter...

Signs of a struggle, maybe, or signs that someone had methodically gone through the apartment breaking everything they could find.

_Why? _That was what he couldn't get his head around, why. Something he had done? Something the boys had done? They were teenagers, or close enough. They should be protected. (_He should have protected them_.)

He swallowed hard; maybe they hadn't been here. Maybe that hadn't been in and that had been the cause of the rage...

"Rusty?" he called out, and he didn't know whether or not he was hoping for an answer. "Rusty? Danny? You here?"

There was no answer but he had to be sure. He paused outside Rusty's bedroom door for a long second, willing himself to go in. There was nothing wrong with Saul's imagination. He could picture himself stepping inside, could picture finding Rusty's broken body lying on the floor...God. Please, no.

The wanton destruction continued into the bedroom but there was no one here and he was relieved. Mostly relieved.

Except...except the blankets had been torn apart and there was a long cut through the sheets and pillows that could only have been made with a knife.

Someone had been in Rusty's bedroom. Someone had been in Rusty's bedroom with a knife. Someone had been in Rusty's bedroom with a knife and now Rusty was nowhere to be found.

It wasn't as though the place had been searched. That should've been one of his first thoughts, but they, whoever they were, hadn't been looking for anything. The wardrobe had been tipped over but the nightstand was undisturbed; looked like the drawers hadn't been gone through. They hadn't been looking for anything. This was about...he had _no idea _what this was about.

He gazed around the room but there were no clues, nothing that got his attention, nothing that told him the whos and the whys. Nothing that told him where Rusty and Danny were.

The thing was, the thing that he was trying so very hard not to think about, was that he didn't know _when _either. He'd been away a week. And that little piece of junk mail and terror, that could've come at any time. No matter how much he struggled, he couldn't remember whether it had been at the top of the pile or the bottom. The boys could have been gone a week and he'd never know. The thought terrified him. And whether they'd been gone a week or five minutes, he'd sat drinking coffee and reading the paper, and he'd never know what had been happening to them in that time.

They'd be alright. They had to be alright.

He felt the same surge of terror as he stood outside Danny's bedroom door and he braced himself to feel the same sense of outrage, shock and fear, the same helpless violation.

He didn't.

It was much worse.

There was a knife stabbed through a pillow sitting right in the middle of Danny's bed.

The pillow was smeared with blood.

Saul's hand was clasped to his mouth. For a moment he was certain he was going to throw up.

God. He swallowed hard, fighting for control. It was just a little blood. Not too much. Not so much that it meant death or even serious injury. But it was blood on Danny's bed and that meant it was already far too much.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. There was no one in the apartment. But there had to be _something_. Some clue, some reason for all of this. Maybe if he could find out what they'd been working on, even.

Frowning, he went back to Rusty's room, pushed the wardrobe half upright so he could reach inside and check the top shelf. Couple of ID badges for security for the new mall and a floor plan, but judging by the notes on it they were nowhere yet.

Could've been something from before? The Ashworth job - if they'd been rumbled, there could have been repercussions. But he thought again of the photographs, of the cryptic little message. That wasn't spur of the moment and it wasn't simple revenge. Someone had planned this.

He was so very afraid.

Back in the living room, meticulous searching and there were little dots of blood on the carpet. A red smear on the woodwork by the front door. A thousand possibilities played out in his head. Ways a struggle could have gone and the very best ended with Rusty and Danny being dragged out of their home by men with guns. The worst ended in body bags.

Not helpful to dwell on. He had to _think._ Okay. He had been sent a warning in the post. So, maybe... He glanced hopefully at their letterbox.

There was a package sitting there in the basket innocently. It had his name on it.

The possibilities were raging through him again and he tore into the package before he'd even thought to consider the potential dangers.

There was a framed photograph inside.

Him and Rusty. The Ashworth job. Or just before the Ashworth job. He was standing in the anteroom, fixing Rusty's bow tie for him and Rusty was letting him. And he could see the affection and pride on his own face, all of the protective and the paternal on open display, and Rusty's smile was shining and for once he looked like the eighteen year old he was.

He remembered the moment.

Remembered how he'd felt, remembered the wonder.

And someone had been watching, someone had taken that moment and...He shuddered.

There was a note.

"P.O. box 405. Grand Central Post Office.

Say you're there to pick up Joe Miller's key.

Cute picture. Cute kids. You must be very proud."

He couldn't hide from the knowledge anymore; this was personal. This was personal and this was aimed at him.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: If I'm being honest, this is just a story of short chapters. Still. Three deadlines in a row. Isn't that some kind of record for me?**

* * *

He stared down at the photograph and the note and felt his mouth twist into a snarl. He didn't recognise the handwriting, but _someone _knew how to hurt him, alright.

And the photo...framed, like he was going to want to keep it. Thing was, if it had been taken by one of their friends, he probably would have. He remembered the moment, remembered thinking, with vague wonder, that in another life he might have been fixing Rusty's bow tie ready for his high school prom. Not so he could play his part in a high stakes long con. And he'd seen the way Rusty was smiling at him, and he'd known that this life was absolutely fine with him.

He'd been so proud that night. So happy. And all the time, someone had been watching them. Someone had been watching this little perfect moment and had seen in it a way in, a way to hurt, a way to destroy.

He bit his lip.

Right. Post office. Only before that... He grabbed the phone in the hall. Dialled the number.

Molly answered promptly. "Hello?"

"It's Saul," he said immediately. "When Bobby calls - "

" - wait a minute," she interrupted. "Linus, go play in the other room for a moment, okay? Mommy will be through soon."

He wondered if she didn't want to be interrupted or if she was frightened of hearing something that Linus shouldn't.

"Okay," she said after a second.

"I'm at the boys place," he told her. "The apartment's been trashed and there's no sign of them." He swallowed hard. "There's blood..." He heard her gasp. "Not a lot, but they must have been here when it happened."

"They're tough," she said quietly. "They'll be okay."

He disregarded her. They didn't know that. They couldn't know that. And he couldn't afford to take refuge in blind reassurance. "There was a message for me," he went on. "I'm to pick up a parcel at the post office at Grand Central. Box 405. Name of Joe Miller. Tell Bobby."

"Wait for Bobby," Molly said, insistently and instantly.

"I _can't_," he said, his voice hoarse with held-back agony. He had to go as soon as possible. Every moment counted and he'd wasted so many of them.

"Saul, you know it's probably a trap." She sounded desperate.

He nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "I know. That's why I called you first. Let Bobby know."

He hung up abruptly.

Someone had to know. If he was caught, if he was never seen again, someone had to know and someone had to pick up right where he'd left off, and he couldn't think of anyone more likely to succeed than Bobby.

He hoped that they got to find the boys together.

* * *

The thing about walking into a trap, Saul figured, was that it meant that he would, at least, get some answers. He needed to know who and he needed to know _why _and most of all he needed to know where the boys were, and if they were okay.

It had taken him nearly an hour to get across town and a painful half hour just watching until he was fairly certain that the post office wasn't being watched. Least not by anyone _he _could spot, and that wasn't necessarily a comforting thought. Still, that didn't mean it was safe. He could think of any number of ways he could wind up getting captured or arrested or killed in the next ten minutes.

It didn't make a difference. Rusty and Danny were in trouble. _Nothing _made a difference.

Ready for anything, he walked into the post office.

He was waiting another agonising twenty minutes in the queue, and he resisted the urge to push in line, to demand he got served first, to scream that this was a matter of life and death and everyone else could just _wait. _Don't draw attention, he reminded himself firmly. The stakes were too high.

"Good afternoon," he beamed when it was finally his turn, smiling like he didn't have a care in the world. "I'm here to pick up Joe Miller's PO box key? Number 405?"

The dragon behind the counter stared at him unblinking for a long moment before she reached for her book and flipped the pages - very, very slowly, and keeping the smile going took a considerable effort - until finally she traced her finger down a page. "Yes," she said disinterestedly. "Says here I just need to make a phonecall to check."

Damn. "Perhaps we can skip that?" he offered, twinkling his eyes at her. "I'm in a bit of a hurry and I'm _sure _that you have better things to do."

She gazed impassively at him. "It's the rules."

His smile didn't flicker for an instant. Inside he was snarling with rage and frustration and desperation. "Oh, that's fine then," he agreed. "Oh!" he added brightly, like he'd suddenly had a thought. "I wonder if I could check the number you have for Joe? He's just changed his number, you see, and - "

" - I can't let you see it," she interrupted with a scowl, reaching for the phone. "Tell me his new number, if you like."

"I'm not sure if I have it on me," he said, patting his pockets down.

"Then I'll just try this one, and if it doesn't work, you can come back another day," she told him dismissively.

_'My friends are missing!_' he screamed at her inside his head. _'They're _missing _and I need to know everything!' _

He pushed the feeling aside. Get the package. Bobby would be here soon and if necessary they could try a more direct approach to get that number.

She went to the back of the room and made the phonecall, and try as he might, he couldn't hear a word. When she came back, she pushed a key at him, made him sign a receipt and then ignored him. Not that it mattered. He was already rushing over to the bank of boxes.

405. He looked round as casually as he could, This could be the moment when everything went wrong.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the box. There was a brown paper parcel in there and nothing else.

Okay. He lifted it out gingerly. Wasn't very big. Wasn't very heavy either. Please, God, let it have something inside it that would tell him where the boys were. Let it have something inside that would tell him what was going on. Let it have something inside that told him they were _safe. _

Didn't seem a good idea to open it in a crowded place. Be a lot of effort to go to in order to hand him a bomb, but some people were willing to go to a lot of effort. He left the post office - left the station - and headed a couple of blocks away. A couple of moments of anxious searching and he found an abandoned store front, covered in 'For Sale' signs. A moment's casual effort and he was inside.

He stepped away from the door. Laid the parcel on the counter. Tried not to think about what was inside it as he tore gingerly through the paper.

A video cassette tape. That was it. He stared at it, biting his lip, wondering what the hell could be on it that was so important? He was being driven towards something, being forced to play someone else's game, and he didn't know the rules.

_(And the boys could be anywhere now. Could be dead now.)_

A video cassette tape. He didn't have a video player. Not to mention that the whoever knew where he lived. Probably wasn't a good idea to go home. The boys had one, he knew that, but their place wasn't safe either, and the TV and VCR had been smashed up.

He'd buy one. Take it to a hotel or something. He'd do _something._

When he picked up the tape, determined and ready to figure out his next step, he suddenly realised that there _had _been something else in the parcel. A neatly folded piece of kleenex.

Carefully he unwrapped it.

A moment later and he was on his hands and knees, throwing up everything he'd eaten for the past week.

The two bloodied teeth sat innocently on top of the counter.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: InSilva thinks I am a robot. She believes email over me. Apparently I am not even a very sophisticated robot. **

**A/N2: Four chapters on schedule! And thanks go to InSilva who is patient and wonderful and helpful and still wants to know where they are.  
**

* * *

VCR. Motel room. He was moving on automatic pilot. Terror and fury and despair were eating through him, consuming him completely.

The _teeth..._God. Just thinking about it made him feel sick to the bone. He couldn't stop shaking and the little piece of kleenex was burning through his pocket.

He didn't _know _whose they were. He didn't _know. _He could still have hope. Let him have hope.

An instruction manual and he was wiring up the video recorder to a TV and this was just _insane. _He should be running out, finding the boys, saving them. Time was passing and he didn't know what else to do.

Rusty and Danny were missing and he didn't know where they were, and images of them, trapped and hurting and desperate and dead were running through his head, over and over and over.

His hands were trembling. He fitted the wires together and blinked back tears.

Eventually, he pushed the tape into the machine and the TV started flickering.

He stared and moments later Patrick Knight's face filled the screen.

Didn't matter that it was a video tape, didn't matter that it was just an image, didn't even matter that it had been twelve years. He still took an automatic, fearful step back.

Patrick bared his teeth. It might have been a smile. It might not have been.

Saul sank down onto the bed and watched, helplessly.

_"Hi," Patrick began. "It's been a while, hasn't it? It's been a long while." He giggled hoarsely. "I'm not so sure you'll recognise me. I know how it is. So many marks, right? So many lives ruined? Must be hard to keep track of us all." He paused for a moment, licking his lips. "So, you and me, we're going to talk _real _soon. Well, I guess _I'm _going to talk and _you, you _are going to listen. But first of all, I thought you might enjoy a little reunion!"_

_He darted forwards and swung the camera around crazily, ninety degrees and it was pointing at Danny and Rusty, tied to chairs, looking bruised and battered but _alive_. They looked like they'd been dragged from their beds, Danny wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants, Rusty, a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers. They looked young and they looked vulnerable and worse still, there was dried blood trailed down Danny's chest, blood splattered across Rusty's t-shirt, and Saul couldn't see where it was coming from. Two large men with guns were standing behind them. The men never spoke. Never looked at the camera. And they never stopped pointing the guns at the boys' heads._

_"Daniel, Robert, are you going to smile for the camera?" Patrick invited earnestly and maybe Saul was the only one who would have seen the shudder at Patrick knowing their names and maybe he wasn't. "Come on. Tell Daddy how much you miss him. Beg him to save you."_

_"Better idea," Rusty smiled charmingly. "Why don't _you _fuck off and die?"_

_Patrick shook his head disapprovingly. "Language," he scolded, giggling. "What will Daddy say?" He jumped forwards and drove the heel of his hand into Danny's nose._

_"Danny!" Rusty shouted, his eyes wide and fearful, and the blood was pouring from Danny's face and his eyes were blank and angry._

_Patrick turned back to the camera. "You can be proud of them, you know," he said conversationally. "They put up a good fight. And they didn't cry or beg or whine. They're good boys. Tough." He laughed. "But they are so _easy _to control. All I have to do is threaten one of them, even a little, and the other will do _whatever I want." _He smiled and leaned in, his face conspiriatorily close. "Whatever I want."_

Saul closed his eyes for a moment. He'd told the boys to be careful a hundred times. Warned them. What people could see, people could use, people could hurt them with.

He didn't want them hurt. And it was all his fault.

_"Now," Patrick went on abruptly, turning back to Danny and Rusty. "Is everyone ready to talk to Daddy?"  
_

_There was a moment of absolute confusion, and Danny and Rusty's faces were carefully blank and they had no idea what Patrick was talking about. Saul bit into his lip hard; Patrick hadn't told them and they didn't know and it hurt._

_Danny raised his eyebrows. "I don't know who you _think _you've kidnapped, but my father's dead. So unless you've got a ouija board handy..."_

_Patrick giggled. "Darling boy," he said fondly, stroking his hand down Danny's cheek and Danny was struggling to lean away. "Do you think I don't _know _that?" His eyes flickered back to the camera. "Do you think I didn't check out every last detail of your lives before I began?" He smiled down at Danny. "Your father died five years ago." He glanced over at Rusty. "And your father, well, _your _father wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire, now, would he?"_

_Rusty grinned as Danny snarled. "He'd probably roast marshmallows," Rusty agreed cheerfully. He turned and looked at Danny and Danny seemed to calm instantly. "You know what we should do when we get out of here?"_

_"_Not _a good idea," Danny answered instantly. "We still haven't gotten the soot off the ceiling."_

_"Very good, boys," Patrick approved. "Don't ever let them see you're scared." He glanced back at the camera. "Oh, you _can_ be proud." He turned back to Danny. "Now," he said, licking his lips. "Let's make this easy, shall we?" He pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and flicked it out in one easy, practised motion, and in an instant he was holding it against Rusty's face and just for a second – just for the briefest of moments – Rusty's eyes were wide with terror and Patrick was smiling straight at Danny. "I believe I told you to beg."_

_Danny's eyes were fixed on the knife in Patrick's hand. "_Please..." _he whispered hoarsely._

_Patrick giggled crazily. "Oh, not _me," _he chided. "Don't beg me. I mean, honestly. Do you think I'm going to listen?" He nodded over at the camera. "Beg your Daddy. Beg him not to leave you. Beg him to save you. Beg him to save your little brother here. And make it convincing."_

_Not looking like he understood it for a second Danny turned and faced the camera. "Dad, please don't leave us. Save us, please." His eyes were blank and his voice was dull and the distaste and discomfort and fear were all buried deeply._

_"Good," Patrick approved. "Very well done. Now, your turn." He skipped over from Rusty to Danny, and the knife was pressed against Danny's face and there was a little line of blood trickling down, and Rusty was shaking and it didn't matter that he didn't know who he was supposed to be talking to, he didn't need any prompting._

_"Please," he whispered, looking straight at the camera. "Please help us. Please don't leave us."_

Saul felt like Rusty was looking straight at him. The tears were rolling down his face and he could do _nothing._

_"Excellent!" Patrick beamed, "You both did a wonderful job. Now, there's just one more thing. Mmm...what was it again?" He turned his back on the boys and smiled straight at the camera. "Oh, yes..." he breathed, pulling out a pair of pliers. _"I_ remember..."_

_He turned round and walked slowly over to Rusty. "Something from the back, I think. Open wide."_

_Danny was screaming. Yelling. Swearing. And Patrick was bent over Rusty and the pliers and blood and the noises..._

Saul couldn't bear to watch. But he couldn't look away and he couldn't close his eyes.

_A lifetime later and Rusty was slumped over in the chair, his eyes invisible, blood dripping steadily from his mouth, and Danny was staring at him, his eyes full of the wild and the frantic._

_Patrick stood directly in front of the camera, holding up the bloodied tooth. "What do you think?" he asked. "I missed my calling in life, right?" He giggled. "I should've been a dentist." He glanced back at the boys. "Oh, Danny looks upset. Think he's feeling left out." His eyes flicked back to the camera. Back to Saul. "I should make it a matched set, what do you say?"_

_More screaming. More blood. More helpless and furious and unending._

Saul's fists were pressed tightly to his mouth to keep himself from screaming. The screen went black for a moment. Then Patrick was back, looking straight at him. Looking straight at him and not smiling and there was a little splash of blood on his face.

_"Like I said, Saul, it's been a while. Twelve years. Twelve years since you ruined my life. Twelve years since I lost everything. My son. I lost my _son _because of you. You know how long twelve years is when you're in prison? When you're helpless? When you can't do anything to help the ones you love?"_

_He giggled and wiped the blood away slowly. "You know, I was just going to kill you. I'd been planning it for a long time. A very long time. And it was going to _take _a very long time. I had everything figured out. And then on the night I was going to grab you, I saw you with _them. _And I got to thinking. About lots of things. About what's fair. See, you didn't kill me, Saul. So it wouldn't be fair for me to kill you. But I am going to repay what you did for me. Every last moment of it." He laughed again. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."_

_He held up a little square of tissue._

Saul's hand clenched convulsively over the outside of his pocket.

_"I asked you before if you knew where your children were," Patrick went on. The camera swung round to reveal two empty chairs, the ropes unknotted and abandoned, blood spattered around the floor. "Oops. Guess you don't." Patrick grabbed the camera and pointed it at his face again. "It hurts, doesn't it? Deep inside? Fear and pain and loss...it eats away at you. And it never goes away. Not even for a second." His tongue darted out over his lips. "Get used to that feeling, Saul. I'll be in touch. Once I've spent some more quality time with your darling boys."_

The TV went blank again. This time it didn't come back on.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: InSilva was the one who insisted on Danny and Rusty not being fully dressed in the last chapter, by the way. She seemed to feel it was the right decision.**

* * *

Saul remained motionless for a few moments staring with unseeing eyes at the blank TV.

This was a nightmare. This was an impossible, unbearable, unspeakable nightmare.

This was reality.

Patrick Knight was out of prison and he had Rusty and Danny and he'd...he'd... A headlong dash to the bathroom and he was on his knees, retching helplessly into the toilet.

Weakness. He couldn't afford it. The boys needed him. The boys were alive - they were _alive _and he had to keep believing that - and they needed him. Patrick...he wasn't going to let Patrick hurt them anymore. He was going to get them back and he was going to make Patrick regret touching them. He was going to make sure that Patrick never hurt anyone ever again.

Standing up, wiping absently at his mouth, and his legs might be shaking but his will was absolute and unalterable.

Only so much further he could get by himself. He needed help. He grabbed the phone, dialled the number and Molly answered almost immediately.

"Hello?" She sounded frantic.

"It's me," he said blankly. "Where's Bobby?"

"Oh, Saul, thank God you're okay," she said, the relief evident in her voice. "What's happening? Have you found the boys? Where are you?"

"Westview Inn," he told her, answering the easy question, the only question he knew how to answer. "149th Street."

"Have you found the boys?" she asked again. "Are they safe?"

An image rose in his mind; blood and fear and a pair of pliers. "No," he said, his voice choked with emotion. "They're still gone."

There was a brief silence. "Bobby's plane landed an hour ago," she said at last. "He was going to the post office, hoping...you'd still be there." He knew that wasn't what she'd been going to say. Bobby would never have expected him to still be there. Bobby had been looking for signs of who had taken him. "He'll be calling me soon. I'll send him out to meet you, if you stay put."

"Sure," he agreed.

"_You stay where you are, _Saul," she said fiercely. "We're going to find the boys. And that means we're going to work together. Wait for Bobby."

"I will," he promised, just before he hung up. If he had any ideas, he wouldn't. If he had the slightest clue where Patrick was he'd be heading there now, ready to do whatever it too. But he didn't know.

He rewound the tape. Played it again. Tried to leave emotion out of it. Did his best to ignore what was going on and look for clues, look for all the things he'd missed in the first, horror-filled viewing.

White washed room. No windows he could see. Not in the first view, not when the camera was turned round. No way of knowing time of day, no hint of where the room was. No clues there.

Patrick was looking older. Still well dressed though. He must be getting money from somewhere - the camera equipment, the walking slabs of muscle who were pointing guns at...he took a deep breath. He had accomplices. Safe to say they weren't there out of loyalty. Patrick was financing this somehow.

The men themselves. Could be easier to get to than Patrick. He didn't know who they were, but you couldn't just grab people off the street and ask them to kidnap teenage boys. Chances were good they had some sort of record, and maybe Bobby could trace them. If he ever showed up. Where the hell was he, didn't he know how important this was?

On the screen, Patrick was smiling and holding up the pliers.

Saul stared at him and hated.

There was a date stamp in the bottom left hand corner. He'd seen it before, but he hadn't really registered it. Four days ago. If it was right. He wasn't sure how reliable these things were. Four days ago...the tape played, screaming and horror and agony, and he was watching the past.

Anything could have happened since then.

Patrick could have done anything.

The boys could be anywhere.

They could be dead.

He rewound the tape and played it again. And again. And again.

* * *

By the time he heard the pounding at the door, Saul had watched the tape...actually, he didn't know how many times. A lot. The fingernail marks were deep in his palm and he didn't think they were going to fade anytime soon.

He stopped the tape again, went to the door and let Bobby in.

Bobby stared at him anxiously. "You okay? What's going on?"

He took a deep breath. "A man named Patrick Knight has Rusty and Danny. He...he hurt them, Bobby." Wanting to get the worst over with, he pulled out the little piece of tissue. Let Bobby see the teeth.

For a moment, all Bobby seemed to be able to do was swear. "These might not be...Are you sure - "

" - yes," he interrupted immediately. "There's a tape." He nodded to the TV.

"Okay." Bobby nodded to himself a couple of time. "Okay. Start at the beginning. Tell me everything."

"Found this at my apartment," he explained, showing Bobby the envelope with the photos inside. It came in the mail...I thought it was just a piece of junk mail, at first. Left it aside."

"It's addressed to you," Bobby said, taking it carefully and turning it over. "'Do you know where your children are?'" he read out loud, and the expression on his face hurt. "_Saul - "_

Saul held up his hand immediately, commandingly. Nothing they were going to talk about. Nothing he could afford to talk about. "There's a fingerprint on the back," he said evenly. "Might be Patrick's. Might be one of the guys working for him. Figured you could run it. Maybe we'll get lucky." He doubted it. He was sure it was going to be Patrick's. A way of taunting him. Telling Saul that it didn't matter what he did, he wasn't going to find Patrick.

"Mmm," Bobby nodded, studying the fingerprint carefully and not looking at Saul. He moved on quickly to glancing through the photos. "Not all on the same day," he commented unhappily. "This has been going on for a while._" _He grimaced when he came to the one of Rusty sleeping. "This is a sick bastard we're dealing with."

"He wants me scared," Saul said quietly.

"Yeah," Bobby agreed. He looked closer at the photograph and then back up sharply at Saul. "This was taken through a window," he said, sounding just a little relieved. "There's a slight blurring at the edges. Must have been a telescopic lens. He wasn't actually in Rusty's bedroom."

No one had been in Rusty's bedroom then. Later and it had been so much worse. "Went to their apartment," Saul went on quickly. "It had been torn apart. This was in the letterbox, addressed to me."

Bobby looked at the note and the framed picture. "Right," he said, swallowing hard. "Might be worth checking for prints inside the frame. There could be something. And the post office - "

" - picked up the parcel," Saul went on. "Inside there was...there was..." His voice cracked slightly.

"The teeth," Bobby finished. "And the tape?"

Saul nodded. "The woman behind the counter called a number when I picked up the parcel. He knows I've seen it now."

"So it's his move," Bobby exhaled. "God." He looked at the TV. "I need to see the tape."

Watching the tape was still unbearable. Maybe even more so with Bobby there, beside him, because he could see what Bobby was seeing, he could hear Bobby's soft gasps of pain, hushed murmurs of distress, and he didn't want Bobby to have to see this.

And still he couldn't look away from the screen. Couldn't even think of offering comfort to Bobby, because the agony he was watching the boys suffer was real, and looking away would feel like betrayal.

The tape came to an end at last.

Bobby's face was grey. "Saul..._God," _he said, and his voice was choked.

"We don't have _time_, Bobby," Saul said harshly. "You saw...you _saw. _They're hurt, they're in trouble, we need to find them."

Bobby shut his eyes for a moment. "You're right," he agreed. He took a deep breath. "This was filmed four days ago. If this was a..._normal_...kidnapping, I'd say we'd expect to hear from him soon, with some kind of proof that the boys are alive, so that we'd do what they want. Pay a ransom or whatever."

"It's not going to be that simple," Saul said heavily. If it was just a question of money...he'd pay anything. Any amount of money. Any _price. _

"Right," Bobby agreed. "You know him. You think he's going to get in touch?"

He didn't know. He hoped so; there would be opportunity there, and maybe he could persuade Patrick that if anyone should be hurt it should be Saul, none of this was anything to do with Rusty and Danny. "We can't just wait for him."

Bobby looked like the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. "I can try and trace whether there's any listed address for Patrick Knight," he began, sounding like he doubted whether it would be of any use. Saul was inclined to agree; he couldn't imagine Patrick being so careless. Couldn't imagine him being careless at all.

"The phone number," Saul murmured. It was a possibility and he was clinging to all of those. "We should start there."

"Right," Bobby agreed, watching as Saul carefully took the tape out of the machine, lifted the photographs, the envelope, the _teeth..._ Even looking at them was agony. Touching them, having to carry them around...

Bobby put a hand on his arm. "We'll get them back, Saul. And they're together, at least."

It wasn't much of a comfort. "It's my fault," he said simply, and he headed for the door, they'd wasted enough time already. "He's after me."

"Saul..." Bobby was following him. "You need to tell me. Who is Patrick Knight?"

There was a car outside. Bobby drove. Saul talked.

"It was twelve years ago," he began. "Patrick Knight was a cop. A dirty one. He had all sorts of schemes running. Had his own protection racket going. Took a lot of money not to lock people up. That sort of thing. He came after this friend of mine, Sam. He ran a cab firm and Patrick was trying to get into the drug courier business. He saw it as the perfect opportunity." Sam hadn't seen it that way. Particularly after the first time that Patrick beat him up. Not that he'd called Saul until the _second _time.

"What did you do?" Bobby asked quietly.

Saul stared at the dashboard. Such a long time ago. He remembered that first conversation with Sam, and Sam had still looked like hell and Sam's drivers had been angry. Rightly so. They'd wanted to just kill Patrick. Make it messy. Sam hadn't wanted that. He'd called Saul in, asked him for help, asked him to make sure no one died.

"I should have let them kill him," he whispered to no one. He'd thought of the consequences at the time; Patrick was a dangerous man, and he'd known that if the con went wrong he'd come after Saul. But he'd never imagined _this_.

Bobby glanced sideways at him and said nothing.

Saul shook his head quickly. "Doesn't matter about the details." He snorted. "I barely _remember _the details. But we wound up with all the money he'd invested in a non-existent business, and he wound up making a drugs drop right in front of his lieutenant and the police commissioner."

"He went to jail," Bobby checked.

"Yeah..." Saul hesitated. "There was more than that, though. Turned out he was worse than I thought. A lot worse. And once they started investigating, they turned up all sorts. They found he used to go after the prostitutes on his patch. Threaten to arrest them if they didn't do everything he wanted. Hurt them. The younger the better."

Bobby was staring at him, the road forgotten. "_Saul - _" he said, and his voice was choked with fear and horror.

He shook his head quickly, before the question could even form. "No!" he said at once. "No, he only ever went after girls." That way, anyway. Saul had seen what Sam had looked like, when Patrick had got through with him. And he'd heard the other stories. "And when they searched his apartment, they found a gun. Tied him into a double homicide the month before. Two other cops, they figured they must have stumbled onto something." He sighed and clenched his fists. "He went to prison for a lot of reasons. Most of them were nothing to do with me." The last thing Patrick Knight was, was innocent.

"He killed two cops?" Bobby frowned. "And he's out _now?_"

Saul glanced up sharply. He hadn't thought of that. But Bobby was right, surely Patrick should still have been in jail. "You think he broke out?" he asked incredulously.

Bobby pursed his lips. "Something's going on." He nodded to himself. "Should be able to find that out, at least. We need more information."

"We need to know everything," Saul agreed. He had to get them back. Had to get them safe.

"He was talking about his son..." Bobby added delicately.

Yes. Saul shook his head. "I don't know anything about that," he said immediately. He had a vague - very vague - recollection that Patrick had had a wife and child, but he'd never so much as laid eyes on them.

There was doubt in Bobby's eyes.

"You think I'd get a kid involved in a job?" he demanded outraged. "You think I'd hurt a kid? Or even let a kid get hurt?"

Except Rusty had only been fifteen, when Saul had first met them, and Danny had only been eighteen, and he'd let them get involved in jobs, and he'd let them get hurt. Oh, God, he'd let them get hurt, and Rusty was only eighteen now, and Danny might not be a teenager, but he was still a kid, and Saul had let them get hurt, and Patrick Knight had them, and there was blood and screaming and pliers inside Saul's head, and Patrick had them _right now _and they were kids and they were hurting and...

"Breathe, Saul," Bobby demanded urgently and his hand was on Saul's shoulder and the car wasn't moving. "Just breathe."

His shoulders were shaking and he gulped in fresh air, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn't afford this. The boys couldn't afford him to be weak.

"We're going to get them back," Bobby promised him helplessly.

He nodded, like he didn't have any doubts, and he turned his face away from the younger man and dashed the tears away angrily with the back of his hand.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Happy Monday**

* * *

They arrived at the post office about ten minutes before it closed.

"How do you want to do this?" Saul asked, as they lingered in the doorway across from it.

"They've seen you in there, right?" Bobby checked. He looked apologetic as Saul nodded. "It's probably best if you stay out of it, Saul. We don't want them getting suspicious."

Right. He'd just wait here. Do nothing. Let Bobby take care of it. It bothered him more than it should, but he nodded his agreement. All that mattered was that they got the number and found out what was going on.

He stood in the doorway and stared blankly at the post office as Bobby disappeared inside, and in his mind he was going over every detail he remembered from twelve years ago, looking for reasons and looking for leads.

It was difficult. He couldn't even think of anyone that Patrick would go to for help; most of his friends had been cops, and as far as Saul remembered, most of them had testified against him. And from the other side, his more unsavoury acquaintances, none of them were sticking out as being particularly close or particularly still around. It was close to hopeless.

Ten minutes after Bobby had vanished inside, and Saul vaguely noticed the door open and he was staring at a tall, edgy-looking man in a black baseball cap.

He'd seen that man before. Recently.

The last time he'd seen that man had been on the tape and that man had been pointing a gun at Danny's head.

Fighting back the urge to roar accusations, throw himself across the street and hit and hurt and punish and never, ever stop, he pushed himself back against the door.

Better that the man didn't see him.

Because if he didn't see him, then Saul could follow him and maybe, just maybe, just hopefully, he'd lead Saul straight to Rusty and Danny.

The man looked round uneasily, and then set off down the street.

Saul waited a couple of moments then he stepped out, keeping his head down, trying to look unimportant and inconspicuous, trying to keep at least a couple of people between him and the man.

He hoped Bobby wouldn't come looking for him just yet.

* * *

Two blocks down and Saul was beginning to feel irrationally certain that the man knew he was being followed. He was almost certain he hadn't been _seen - _he would, after all, have expected some sort of consequence from that - but the man kept looking nervously around him, rushing round corners, pausing and looking over his shoulder. All of that. Each time, Saul managed to press himself into a nearby doorway or lose himself in a group of people and he hadn't felt like the man's gaze had landed on him once.

Still, this wasn't as easy as he might have hoped, and it got even worse when the man suddenly hurried across the road and got into a waiting car. Got in at the passenger side, and the car immediately started up. Two of them. That wasn't good.

And worse than that, much worse than that, he was going to lose them if he wasn't careful.

He scrambled into the street and hailed a cab, standing in front of it to be sure it stopped.

The driver was grumbling as he threw himself inside. "Crazy asshole, what do you think you're doing?"

"Follow that car," Saul said quickly, pointing into the street ahead of them.

The driver twisted around in his seat, his hand resting on the baseball bat under his seat, and stared at Saul. "You're kidding, right?"

With a snarl of frustration, Saul grabbed his wallet out of his pocket and pressed all the money he had into the driver's hand. "Just do it! Now!"

"Jesus..." The driver shook his head. "Okay, you're the boss."

They sped off, and the car was ahead of them and Saul leaned forwards, desperately trying to memorise the details, just in case. Dark green Oldsmobile, License plate...he couldn't make out the license plate. Damn it.

"So, you're the police, or what?" the driver said conversationally.

"Something like that," he agreed, still staring ahead of him.

"Private dick, yeah?" The driver nodded to himself, apparently happy with his own deduction. "And those guys, they thieves?"

"Kidnappers," Saul said blindly, truthfully.

"No shit?" The driver sounded impressed. "Good case you got here then. Good times for you."

"Right." Saul's agreement was hollow and uncaring. All that mattered was they not lose the car. He'd agree with anything the driver said.

They slowed to a halt and he watched as the car sped off round a tight corner. "They're getting away!" he howled.

"Sorry, man, it's the lights," the driver explained. "They're against us."

"Forget the lights," he said wildly. "I need to catch up with those guys.

"Don't worry about it," the driver said, laughing - _laughing_, and Saul wanted to kill him - "They just turned onto Darby, right? There's no way that we're gonna lose them. Those streets are narrow, they won't be able to go fast, but we'll just nip down."

His fists were clenched and he sat back helplessly in his seat, willing the traffic lights to turn, and all the while his best clue to finding the boys was speeding away from him, never to be seen again.

"And here we go!" the driver announced cheerfully, after a few eternities and the car screeched off and seemed to take the corner on two wheels.

The streets were narrow here. Narrow and deserted and Saul couldn't see any sign of the car, right up until the moment that it roared out of the narrow alley opposite and rammed into the side of the cab.

An almighty bang and he'd been thrown sideways. There was a pain in his head - he'd knocked it against the window? - and his ears were ringing and his eyes were blurry and clouded over. He shook his head, desperately trying to clear it, desperately trying to get the world back in focus.

"Jesus Christ!" Someone was yelling, sounding far-off and frightened. The driver. The driver, and he was frantically trying to get the engine started again.

Moving quickly, Saul pulled his seatbelt off, wincing every time he moved his head, and he stared out of the window on the other side of the cab. The dent in the side of the cab was obvious; the entire left side had buckled in, but he could just about see through the window, and he could see the car - the kidnappers' car - on the other side of the alley, could see the doors open, could see the man walking slowly towards the cab, gun in hand.

"Come on, come on, come on," the driver was chanting breathlessly as he spun the key again and again and again.

They had to get out of here. These men meant serious business. They weren't looking to pass the time of day.

"Yes!" The driver gave an almost-sob of relief and the engine slowly ground into life.

Saul's head was pounding.

These men meant serious business.

These men knew where Rusty and Danny were.

Without stopping to think about it, without letting himself weigh up the options, or the chances he'd succeed, he reached under the passenger seat and pulled out the baseball bat.

"Hey!" the driver protested, and Saul ignored him, opening the back door and scrambling out. "You're crazy! I ain't hanging around!"

He wasn't, and Saul barely glanced as the cab reversed down the street at breakneck speed. All his attention was on the man standing on the other side of the alley, the man who'd held a gun - who'd held a _gun _- to Danny's head, the man who was staring at him like he had no idea what Saul thought he was doing.

If Patrick wanted Saul dead, Saul would be dead by now. This was something else. And that meant that he might just have a shot at this, if he moved quickly. If he moved quickly and wore the anger like armour and didn't hesitate, even for a second.

He threw himself across the alley, and the man had his gun out, but he didn't shoot and in an instant, Saul had the baseball bat pressed up against the man's throat.

Saul knew what it was to hurt someone, and he thought of an abandoned warehouse in Vegas, standing with Reuben, and absolute outrage and implacable determination. He let that show in his eyes as he stared at the man.

"_Where are they?" _he demanded in a low snarl.

The man looked to be in a state of shock, almost, even as he was choking he was blinking at Saul like he couldn't believe this was happening. Still, he brought the gun up, started pointing it towards Saul's head, and Saul struck down with the baseball bat viciously, cracking it hard against the man's arm.

"You're not so good with a gun when your victim's not tied up, are you?" he said harshly, as the man cried out and dropped the gun, and the baseball bat was back pressing into the man's throat in a second. "Now. _Where are they?" _

"It was all the boss' idea, you've got to believe me," the man choked out earnestly. "I don't know anything about it, I'm just a delivery boy, I just do whatever the boss says, and then I noticed you following me back from the post office and I panicked."

Saul snorted his disbelief. But the man was talking, at least, and maybe if he just pushed a little harder, maybe, maybe...

He didn't see the other man coming.

Not until the hand seized his shoulder, pulled him away, and then the first man was grabbing the baseball bat out of his hands effortlessly.

"Thanks, Mike," the first man said cheerfully, and he shrugged his shoulders, pulled his arm back, and swung the baseball bat into Saul's stomach every bit as hard as he could.

Pain.

Pain and he couldn't breathe, and he was on the ground listening to them talk somewhere above him.

The other man...he should have remembered. The man he'd followed from the post office hadn't been driving. And he'd caught a glimpse of this Mike as he was hauled away, and even though Mike had blood down the side of his face, Saul had recognised him. The other man from the tape. The one who'd held the gun to Rusty's head.

These men had threatened, these men had hurt, and Saul desperately tried to get air into his lungs, to stand up, to do _something, _and they talked on, uncaring.

"Thought Patrick said this guy wasn't a fighter?"

"You want to tell him that you let the guy beat you?"

"No thanks. You reckon we should take him back to the house?"

"Patrick doesn't want to see him yet. You really want to drive him all the way cross town just to watch the boss let him go?"

"Yeah. Crazy bastard."

"Better not let him hear you say that. Long as we're getting paid, remember?"

"Right. So what do we do?"

There was a pause. "Well, for starters," Mike said slowly, and he kicked Saul hard in the shoulder, rolled him onto his back and Saul stared, blinking up at him, desperately trying to move, and all he could do was watch as the boot came down hard at his head.

The explosion was just behind his eyes, and the world started to fade away and he clung desperately to the last of it.

He mustn't die here.

He mustn't die.

He had to save them.

Danny. Rusty.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Owing to where the chapter break naturally fell, this chapter is twice as long as previous chapters. For similar reasons, I expect the next two chapters to be remarkably short. Incidentally, I have no idea how long this fic is going to be. Longer than six chapters. That I'm sure of. **

* * *

For a second, as he woke up, aching and uncomfortable, he didn't remember.

There was a second, as he took stock of the pain and the feeling of concrete beneath him, and the smell of cigarette smoke and stale urine, when the only thoughts in his head were a vague uncertainty as to who and what and why, when all his thoughts were of himself, and some part of him was eagerly suggesting that whatever had happened, if it was humanly possible, going home and spending at least three days in bed would be a good idea.

Then it all came back to him.

The fear that had been driving him on, the absolute terror. Rusty and Danny; missing. The ransacked apartment, Patrick Knight, the tape, the _teeth..._Somewhere, the boys were being hurt, tortured, and he wasn't there and he couldn't stop it. With an effort, he resisted the urge to leap to his feet, to run out and find them.

He remembered the two men. Seemed more than possible they were still around somewhere. He kept his eyes closed, kept very still and _listened._

The sound of his own breathing. Street sounds, in the distance. Nothing that suggested anyone was anywhere near.

Slowly, wincing at the sudden burst of light, he opened his eyes and found himself lying at the bottom of a phone booth. At least that explained the smell. As quickly as he could, he turned his head, scanning the deserted street around him. No sign of the men. They'd let him go? They'd just...let him go?

Somehow, he found that disturbing.

And his head was pounding and there was a decided throbbing from his abdomen, where the guy had punched him, but nothing more than that. It didn't seem like they'd beaten him up, they'd just incapacitated him and dragged him here.

At least if they'd abducted him, he'd probably have a better chance of knowing how the boys were. He swallowed hard and told himself that wasn't _really_ a good plan.

He got to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain in his head, and a small piece of paper fell from his coat. Bending down - swearing a little - he took a look.

"Should have known you'd cheat," the note told him.

It wasn't Patrick's handwriting. It had been twelve years, but he'd spent a lot of time forging Patrick's signature; he was as certain as he could be. Payphone. They'd knocked him out, dragged him here and phoned their boss for instructions.

And Patrick thought he was cheating. This horrific game that Patrick thought they were playing, with the highest stakes Saul could imagine, and Patrick thought he was cheating.

He had to find the boys. He had to find the boys right now.

Judging by the daylight, he hadn't been out too long. Judging by the look of the street, he wasn't that far from where he had been.

Bobby. The phone number. If they traced the call, found the house...it was something.

He headed back the way he came, running through the streets as fast as he could, not stopping for anything, no matter how out of breath he got, no matter how much his head was hurting.

When he got there the post office was closed.

There was no sign of Bobby.

Cold fear seized him and immediately he was imagining Bobby being grabbed by Patrick's men, being bundled off in the back of a van because Saul had got him involved in this, being quietly killed in some out-of-the-way basement, his body dumped in the river, and he was imagining breaking the news to Molly, thinking of the look on her face, thinking of Linus...

He took a deep breath; it wasn't likely. How would Patrick even know who Bobby was? Probably Bobby had got done in the post office and he'd left to find Saul gone.

Then what?

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself in Bobby's shoes. The worry for Danny and Rusty, finding the clue then finding Saul missing - worrying that Saul had been taken as well...what would he do?

His eyes snapped open and he thought he knew.

* * *

Bobby was standing in the middle of the boys' apartment looking round at the mess and the devastation with an unreadable look on his face.

He looked up when Saul walked in and the relief was immediate and obvious, and concern followed hot on its heels. "Saul, thank God you're safe. What happened to you?"

He was staring at Saul's head, and Saul's hand flew to the lump automatically. "It's nothing," he said dismissively.

Bobby looked like he wanted to disagree. "Sit down before you fall down, will you?"

With a sigh, he complied, but only because there was no immediate point in staying standing. A chair at the kitchen table, and Bobby was looking round the kitchen with a frown. "There's ice in the freezer and a first aid kit in the drawer under the kettle," he told Bobby quietly.

There was always fresh ice in the freezer and the first aid kit was always kept fully stocked, and Saul was always torn between being pleased that they were prepared and grieving for the experience that taught them.

Bobby nodded and a few moments later Saul was settled at the kitchen table, holding an ice pack to his head.

"I thought he'd got you too," Bobby said quietly.

Saul nodded apologetically. "I didn't mean to worry you. One of the men from the tape - not Patrick himself - came out of the post office just as you were going in. I followed him."

Bobby swore. "You should have come and got me," he said, and the anger and frustration was alive in his voice.

"There wasn't time," Saul shot back instantly. "I couldn't risk him getting away."

"Well, if I had been there - if there had been two of us, maybe they'd be safe by now," Bobby snapped insistently.

Stricken, Saul opened his mouth to argue, to point out that maybe Bobby should have spotted the man himself, to say something quick and cutting. Then, he took a deep breath and calmed himself. "This is not helpful," he said sternly.

It wasn't helpful and it wasn't fair. He was anxious and on edge - _Bobby _was anxious and on edge - and fighting with each other wasn't going to get them anywhere.

"No," Bobby agreed with a grimace. "Sorry." He sighed. "I just wish I'd seen the guy too."

Saul wished the guy hadn't seen _him. _"He joined the other man," he went on after a moment. "His name's Mike, by the way. They drove away. I followed them in a cab. They caught me following them, rammed the cab, I got out and tried to interrogate one of them, the other knocked me out." He paused. "I heard them talking while I was on the ground. Didn't get much but...they're just in it for the money. The boys are in a house, somewhere on the other side of town."

Bobby nodded slowly, looking like he was trying to fit this together with everything they already knew.

"It's not enough," Saul said quietly. "It's not nearly enough."

"Don't give up," Bobby told him fiercely.

Saul shot him a look. "You kidding?" He wasn't going to give up on the boys. Not ever.

Bobby swallowed and looked away from him. "Yeah. Sorry. I got the number from the post office. Tried dialling it, first of all, when you were missing. I figured I'd say I was conducting a customer satisfaction survey on behalf of the post office, or something. There was no answer though."

"Have you passed it to your contacts?" Saul asked anxiously.

"Yeah," Bobby nodded. "Passed it to the bureau. It'll take at least a day to get the street address though."

"A day?" That was too long. That was much too long. So many things that Patrick could do in a day. "Couldn't you call in a favour, or something? Tell them it's a matter of life and death?"

Bobby sighed. "I could. I did. All the favours I got coming. Thing is, at any one time, there's a dozen agents doing the exact same thing. And there are hundreds of matters of life and death."

He sounded tired and Saul _knew _that he'd have done the best he could, and he knew that if...he knew that _if _thenBobby would feel the blame and guilt every bit as strong as Saul would.

"Asked them to get all the information on Patrick Knight together too," Bobby added. "Hopefully there's something in there."

Hopefully.

"You find anything here?" he asked Bobby abruptly, looking round the living room.

Bobby sighed. "Hadn't exactly got started...the place is a _mess_, Saul."

He knew. He'd noticed.

"When they did this..." Bobby shook his head. "He's not trying to be subtle. He wants you good and scared."

Yes. It was working too.

"Okay." Bobby stood up and crossed to the front door. "I noticed when I was picking the lock that someone else had done the same recently. I guess that wasn't you, right?"

He shook his head. "Used my key."

Bobby blinked. "You have a... sorry. Not important. Anyway, think we can assume it was probably at night - be too risky during the day. Didn't look like a particularly expert job, so it would have taken a while."

Night. Patrick and his men standing in the hallway, dressed in black, breaking in and Danny and Rusty asleep and oblivious. He swallowed hard. "So they got in."

"Yeah. Would have been dark, they would have hit the light switch first - I'll check it for prints, but honestly, I'm not hopeful."

No. They would have worn gloves. Naturally.

"Think most of the mess was made after the boys were...subdued..." Bobby said with difficulty, looking like the words were hurting him. "It's a fairly common tactic, scares the family into paying a ransom and helps hide any evidence. Patrick's a cop, he'll probably have seen this before too."

Saul looked at him sharply. "You've seen this sort of thing?"

"I've worked kidnapping cases," Bobby said after a long moment and Saul got the impression that he absolutely wasn't going to say any more. "There was a struggle in the living room though. Look, see where that coffee's stained the floor? There's footprints in it. Lots of footprints. Someone must have been using the percolator as a weapon. Threw it in someone's face, there was a struggle...they fought, Saul. I guess they must have heard something, woken up, come outside and caught Patrick."

"And he _subdued_ them," Saul said hollowly.

"There's the end of a piece of twine on the floor," Bobby said, pointing. "They were probably tied up with that and marched outside."

"He'd gag them too," Saul added and the picture was vivid in his mind.

Bobby lookedunhappy. "Yeah." He sighed. "We can check with the neighbours, but - "

" - no one will have heard anything," Saul agreed. And if they _had _surely they'd already have contacted the police. He looked at Bobby. "The knife...the blood..."

"More scare tactics," Bobby said, his voice under careful and tight control. "Once he had the boys tied up, he probably cut one of them - see, the blood on the floor there? It's sprayed. And then he just wiped the knife off on the sheets."

Saul bit into his lip hard. He could see every minute of it. This story of what had happened - he could see the details. He wished he knew the ending.

"Going to need some pencils and some sellotape," Bobby said, after a second. "I want to at least try to look for fingerprints." He really didn't sound very confident. Neither was Saul; they were looking for an ex-cop and Patrick had enough brains to make sure his men wore gloves.

"Pencils," he muttered to himself, looking round the mess in the living room. Could be tricky.

"Or talcum powder," Bobby offered.

Saul shot him an incredulous look. "Think the pencils might be more likely," he pointed out, and he found a bunch of them under a broken shelf.

"Thanks," said Bobby, and he started carefully grinding the lead to powder with a coin. "Could go to the local Bureau office and pick up some proper equipment, but it would take time. And they'd ask questions."

They didn't have time, and they certainly didn't have time for questions. "This'll work," he asked, as Bobby moved on to the next pencil.

Bobby nodded. "Yeah. Used to do it when I was a kid, playing cops and robbers. It works. I'll need something to dust the powder onto the surface we're checking. Some kind of material, should work, the lighter the better. Silk would be good."

Right. He nodded his understanding and walked into Rusty's room. The overturned wardrobe and there was a selection of bright and ridiculous silk shirts visible.

He hesitated for a long moment. The last time he'd seen Rusty wear _this _one, with the blue and the silver had been during the thing with Winterbaum – Rusty had been sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a mountain of paper, drawing the plans from scratch and his face had been alight with impossible, unbreakable concentration. The green one, Rusty had worn to the poker game at Jacques - George had said the colour was putting him off and told Rusty to take it off, and Rusty had laughed and said that if they wanted to play strip poker instead, that was fine, but George wasn't getting his shirt unless he had at _least_ a straight. And the last time he'd seen Rusty at all, he'd been wearing that outrageously pink one, and Saul had told him he looked like a flamingo, and Rusty had grinned, completely unoffended, and Saul had never even_ imagined_ that it might be the last time.

The pink silk was crumpled tightly in his hands. His face was wet.

He took a deep breath. Once Rusty was back, Saul would buy him a new shirt to make up for it. A dozen new shirts.

He tore a piece off the sleeve and took it through to Bobby.

"This enough?" he asked.

"Thanks," Bobby said absently, and then he looked down at it. "Jesus, that's ugly."

"No it isn't!" Saul said before he could help himself.

Bobby looked up at him quickly. "I'm sorry," he said gently.

Right. Saul shook his head irritably and tried to ignore the compassion in Bobby's voice. He knew he was overreacting. "I'm going to take another look round," he said, as Bobby started carefully dusting the powder onto the handle of the knife. "See if we've missed anything."

He stood in Rusty's bedroom door for a long moment and imagined.

_A noise in the middle of the night and they were awake. Jumping out of bed, each rushing to check on the other, only when they were standing in their bedroom doors they saw Patrick and his men, standing in the middle of their living room, guns on open display, and Patrick was holding a length of twine and _smiling _and he opened his mouth and said..._

Patrick would have said _plenty, _Saul remembered twelve years ago, and judging by the tape he'd got so much worse.

There'd have been reason for them to be frightened. Reason for them to run.

_They exchanged a quick glance. Time to run, but Patrick was standing between them and the door. Not like there wasn't another way out. There was always another way out. The living room window. The roof of the next building was just a little lower. Jumpable, and from there... It was a chance, at least. _

Bobby abruptly stood and walked past him, ducking first into Rusty's room, then Danny's, then the bathroom. "There's no prints on the knife or the photo frame," he explained at Saul's curious glance as he emerged clutching an armful of items carefully. "Before I dust anything else, I need a comparison of the boys' prints. Since they'll be on everything."

Made sense, but he had to stare as Bobby carefully placed a glass, a bottle of aftershave, a shaving mirror and a little foil packet of condoms on the table. Felt distasteful. The last felt more than distasteful.

Bobby caught him looking and frowned defensively. "Shiny surfaces hold the best prints. And I need things that we can be relatively certain the kidnappers didn't touch. These were all on shelves or drawers."

He sighed and looked away, looked back to the living room window.

_They were both standing in their bedroom doors, and neither of them was ever going to risk leaving the other behind. Rusty was closest to the window. He reached back, as if to grab Danny's hand, pull him along, and Danny was already moving, already shoving Rusty towards the window and escape._

Patrick wouldn't have stood and watched them go.

There wasn't any real height difference between the boys anymore, but Danny still looked that bit older, and he was always going to be that bit broader, more of an obvious threat.

_The two men grabbed Danny by the shoulder, spinning him round, trying to drag him to the floor, and Danny was struggling, fighting, kicking back at them and yelling for Rusty to keep going, to leave him behind._

He crossed the floor, between Rusty's bedroom door and the living room window and looked round again, not looking for what was there, looking for four days ago.

_Rusty turned back immediately, and the kitchen counter was just by his elbow. The pot of coffee caught his eye and in an instant he was swinging it wildly, a desperate, improvised weapon, and the coffee spilled on the floor and Rusty was trying to drag them away from Danny and then..._

And then what?

He didn't know. He couldn't think. There'd been a fight here and he already knew who'd lost.

He sighed and looked round at Bobby, who was gingerly peeling a piece of tape off the mirror and equally carefully pressing it down onto a piece of paper. "It's working?" he asked, as much for something to say, as much because the silence was drowning him.

"Yeah," Bobby agreed distractedly. "Got a complete set of prints for both of them...there." He hesitated and looked up slowly. "Saul? Can I get a look at that envelope?"

"Sure," Saul agreed, puzzled, and he'd forgotten that they already had a print. "You going to check the fingerprint with the cops? See if there's any previous record?" Maybe, just maybe, they might get lucky and it might be one of Patrick's men, not Patrick himself, and maybe there'd be a listed address.

Bobby shot him an unreadable look. "Something like that."

With a frown, he turned away from Bobby and looked back to the footprints on the floor. Right. There was no sign of running, so at least one of them had still been holding on to Danny.

He closed his eyes and pictured the scene. Two men holding Danny tightly. Danny struggling. Rusty swinging the jug of coffee, catching Mike - he was taller, stronger, Rusty would have gone for the biggest threat - around the side of the head. But Mike hadn't fallen.

His eyes shot open and he looked to the ruins of the coffee table a few feet away. Difficult to say what had been broken in the fight and what had been broken afterwards but...

_Mike backhanded Rusty. Hit him hard in the face and Rusty fell, stumbling backwards landing awkwardly on the table. They laughed and turned their attention back to Danny, who was fighting more than ever, rage coursing through him from the moment he'd seen them hit Rusty, but he was outnumbered and outmuscled and however hard he fought, he was _losing.

Yeah. He was almost certain that they'd got Danny subdued and bound here. And that would have left Rusty getting to his feet, seeing that they'd already lost, knowing that he wasn't going to be able to stop them...

Saul frowned. What would Rusty have done next?

He bit his lip. That really depended on one question; had Rusty been expecting someone to look for them? With only the briefest time to think of it, with only one shot, had Rusty thought that someone - that _Saul _- would help?

"It's a match," Bobby said heavily, and Saul turned round sharply, hope dawning.

"You found a fingerprint?" he asked anxiously, and they hadn't been expecting to, not really.

But Bobby was staring down at the envelope and at the sheet of fingerprints he'd just lifted from the aftershave bottle.

_"No,_" he breathed and the dread and pain was overwhelming.

"It's Rusty's thumbprint on the envelope," Bobby told him in a whisper, not even looking at him. "Patrick probably held Rusty's hand down to seal the letter."

Saul could picture it. Patrick holding Rusty by the wrist, dragging his hand through the blood first (_and where had the blood come from?_) then forcing his thumb down onto the envelope. He shuddered. "You knew already," he said to Bobby dully.

Bobby nodded. "Suspected, anyway," he agreed. "I've seen it before, the Amy Darrow case...it was more obvious there though," he added in a whisper, seemingly to himself. "The thumbprint was so much smaller."

Saul wasn't going to ask how that case had turned out. He already knew. He could see it in Bobby's eyes and he reached out and patted Bobby on the shoulder, awkwardly. "We're going to find them," he said softly.

A second and Bobby nodded briskly. "Yeah. You find anything?"

"Maybe," Saul said slowly. "They would have got Danny taken care of first. And Rusty might have had a few moments clear...if he knew we'd be looking for them..."

Bobby grimaced and Saul could see they shared the same doubt. A lifetime of self-reliance working against them.

"He wouldn't have know who they were," Bobby pointed out. "We know that."

Yeah. Rusty wouldn't have been able to leave that kind of message. But something else...if he'd had time, if he'd thought, he might have tried to find a clue, might have managed to leave it behind.

Without a word, he started hunting round the area between the living room window and the kitchen, looking for something - anything - that Rusty might have hidden and he didn't dare hope.

There. Just at the very corner of the window, hidden by the edge of the drapes. A book of matches advertising the Red Diamond Strip Club.

Carefully, he picked the match book up off the floor and wordlessly held it up for Bobby to see. It wasn't much. But it was _something. _

_Rusty sat up slowly, hurt and dazed, shaking his head, and he looked across the room and they'd forced Danny onto the floor, his hands tied behind his back, and they were turning round to look at him now. They weren't going to get out of this. They'd lost already. He didn't have much time. With a wordless yell, he flung himself across the room, straight at Mike, the attack utterly unexpected, and while Mike was trying to react, trying to fight him off, Rusty's hand was dipping into Mike's pocket, searching for something, anything, some clue to leave behind that might help someone find them. He was hoping for a wallet. Credit card. Signed confession. But all his fingers closed around was a little book of matches. Better than nothing, and with a surreptitious flick of his wrist, just in the last split second before Mike overpowered him and threw him to the ground, he threw the matchbook into the corner of the room, away from the chaos and the signs of struggle, where he hoped they wouldn't find it. He could only hope Saul would. _

He had.

"We know what they look like," he said slowly, looking at Bobby. "And we know Mike's name at least. If we check the club out, ask around, maybe one of them is a regular, maybe someone knows where they live."

"Worth a shot," Bobby agreed, and grimaced. "Saul...there is always the possibility that the match book is nothing to do with any of this, you know."

He frowned. "How else would it have got here?"

Bobby looked at him.

Saul snorted. "You're kidding, right?" He tried to imagine Rusty or Danny at a strip club, and gave up almost immediately, resisting the urge to scour his mind clean. Oh, that just couldn't happen.

By the look on Bobby's face, he'd tried for the same mental image. "I'm not saying it's _likely_," he said defensively. "I'm just saying...they're young men, and young men have urges and...it's not completely impossible, Saul. We should bear it in mind."

Personally, he was going to do his best _not_ to bear it in mind. And this was the first, real, plausible lead they had. The first clue that hadn't been spoon fed to them by Patrick, and he didn't want to wait around here a second longer.

"We stop by the FBI crime lab first, they should be able to run us off a picture of the men from the video tape," Bobby said quietly.

Saul froze. That would mean showing the tape to the FBI. That would mean letting someone else see...letting someone else know...

"This time of night, there'll probably only be a couple of guys there," Bobby added quickly. "I'll enter it as part of some other investigation. Tech guys mostly don't know any kind of detail. I'm sorry, but if it'll help us find them - "

" - of course," Saul nodded. Anything. Any price. "Let's get going."

Bobby hesitated. "I just want to phone home first," he said awkwardly. "Need to talk to Molly and Linus."

Impatiently, Saul glared at him. Danny and Rusty were missing and Bobby wanted to waste time talking to his wife and son...oh. Oh, of course he did. "Sorry," he said, walking away, giving Bobby privacy. "I'll just go get cleaned up."

His heart ached a little, as he heard the relief in Bobby's voice. "Hey, Molly, it's me. Is Linus still up? I wanted to say goodnight to him..."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: As I warned you last week, this chapter is very short. InSilva says that I should blame her for this. To be honest I'm not sure _why _but I'm willing to go along with it. *shrug* It's all InSilva's fault. Apparently. **

* * *

Saul stared at himself in the mirror for a long time. The lump on his head was looking ugly. Noticeable. Didn't hurt too much at least, but it was going to attract attention. That was the last thing he needed.

God. This was a nightmare. His hands gripped the sink tightly and the image of Mike punching Rusty was just as sharp in his mind as the ropes and the blood and the pliers.

They'd lived through this before. He knew that.

"_Stupid bastard never learned. No matter how much he got beat."_

Just the thought of that voice, that man...his fists were clenched.

They were supposed to be safe. No more pain. No more fear. They'd thought they were safe and then Saul had come along with his clever schemes and his enemies and he'd dragged them straight into a hell that was none of their making.

He was going to get them back. He was going to make sure they were safe.

When he walked out into the living room, he found Bobby staring down at the phone.

"Everything alright?" he asked sharply, suddenly afraid.

Bobby looked up at him. "The first envelope came to your apartment," he said quickly. "Patrick knows where you live. And you're what this is all about."

He didn't have to be reminded of that. His mouth was dry. "You think he might get in touch?"

"He wants you to suffer," Bobby said, and his eyes were dark and apologetic. "He's going to want to hear from you. See how he's doing."

Yes. Saul shivered. That seemed likely. And Patrick wasn't going to want to be kept waiting. God...If he'd tried to get in contact, and Saul wasn't there... Somehow he didn't think that Patrick would take that well. "We need to go," he said urgently.

* * *

Bobby grabbed his arm before he went to open the door to his apartment. "All we know is that he knows where you live," he muttered urgently. "I go first."

There was a gun in Bobby's hand and Saul was staring. It was just...unexpected. And he tried not to think that it was at least a little more comforting than it was disturbing.

He followed Bobby into the dark apartment. Nothing. No one.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing. They could go and check out the strip joint. Track down Mike and his friend. Find the boys.

Then he noticed that Bobby was staring at the answering machine.

Two messages. He looked at Bobby for a long moment then reached out and heavily pressed play. The first message.

"Hello, Saul," Patrick's voice said, breathy and cheerful and Saul clenched his teeth, fighting back the useless rage and fear. "I hear you decided to start looking for your children at long last. Four days? Really?" He sighed. "And now you're not even in. I guess you don't care about them nearly as much as I thought."

He couldn't quite choke back the soft noise of agonised protest. Four days. He'd left the boys alone, in the hands of a monster, for four days.

"I'm afraid that Daniel and Robert can't come to the phone right now," Patrick added giddily. "They're a little preoccupied. But they send their love. Or at least, I'm sure they would, if they had the slightest idea what this was about." He giggled. "Did you notice that? I told them this was about their Daddy, and they didn't think of you. Not once. I bet that hurts."

His face was blank. Didn't matter that Patrick couldn't see him. He still wasn't rising to the bait.

"If you go back to the PO box, I've left you something there," Patrick told him. "Just a little update on how the boys are doing. I'm sure you want to know. After all. Such a lot has...such a lot _can _happen in four days, can't it?"

His voice dropped to a whisper. "I want you to know how it feels to be helpless. I want you to know how it feels like to know that somewhere, out of your reach, your son is hurting, and you don't know how and you don't know why, and you can't make it stop. I want you to live on nothing but the tiniest scraps of information, waiting for the day you have to admit he's _dead_. Then, maybe, you'll begin to understand what you did to me!"

He'd started in a whisper. By the end he was screaming, and the hairs on the back of Saul's neck were standing up.

The message cut off abruptly.

He was vaguely aware of Bobby beside him, shifting uneasily, and in some small part of his brain, he knew that Bobby was sifting through Patrick's words, looking for clues, looking for anything relevant. But all Saul's attention was on the answering machine, and he didn't dare look away.

The second message, and it was Patrick's voice again, and this time he started out angry.

"You cheated!" he howled, loud and uproarious outrage. "Do you think the rules don't apply to you? Do you think you're better than me? You were waiting at the post office. Treacherous bastard. Just like before."

He winced, a little, at the reminder that he'd fooled Patrick before, tricked Patrick before, and the stakes had seen so high at the time and victory had tasted so sweet.

He seemed to calm down, giggling darkly. "Not that it did you much good, now, did it? See? Even when you're cheating you still can't win."

Not true. Not true. And this wasn't a game and there was nothing that he'd consider cheating, no steps that crossed the line. Anything was acceptable.

"So, there are rules," Patrick went on slowly. "I would have expected you to understand that. But since you seem to be getting a little slow in your old age...You don't try and find me. I'll find you. Whenever I want. You don't try and find your boys. They're mine now. You don't tell anyone about our little game. This is between me and you." He laughed softly to himself. "No one else gets to play."

Saul glanced sharply at Bobby, fear gripping him. Patrick couldn't know...there was no way that Patrick could know. And if he did, he would have said. They were okay, for the time being.

Bobby nodded quickly, and Saul would guess that they were both coming up with ways of keeping Bobby's actions invisible.

"And those are the rules," Patrick finished up. "It's really up to you whether or not you stick to them. There are penalties, if you don't, naturally, but..." Saul could _hear _the smile in his voice. Could picture it, sharp and wolf-like. "I suppose you're not the one who has to pay it." He raised his voice. "You ready?"

The sound of struggling. Swearing. Raised, frantic, frightened voices. Rusty. Danny.

"_Fuck off already...no!" _

Anger breaking off into sudden panic.

"_Let go of him, you sick bastard!" _

Absolute fury. Total fear.

_"Danny!"_

High and childish, a desperate, hopeless plea.

_"Don't...Don't do this..._Please..."

Pleading and desperate and broken.

"Talk to you soon," Patrick said with renewed good humour.

The message came to an end.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: And this chapter is even shorter! But InSilva felt it was the right place to end it. **

* * *

"What...what do you think he was doing to them?" Bobby asked, looking physically ill.

Saul didn't know. And it was driving him out of his mind. A thousand awful possibilities, each worse than the last, the agonising, the obscene, the permanent...

"We got no way of knowing," he told Bobby firmly. "And we can't think about it." He couldn't think about the sheer, naked terror in Rusty's voice, the raging, helpless anger in Danny's, because otherwise he would never, ever stop.

The boys needed him to be strong.

Bobby nodded slowly, understanding exactly, and he made a visible effort to be calm, objective and unaffected. "He'll be in touch again," he said. "Probably some time tomorrow. He'll want to make you sweat, but eventually, he's going to want you to know what he's done."

"Yeah," Saul agreed. That was what he'd figured. "He left something in the post office again." Something he'd _already _done. Some pain he'd already inflicted and wanted to share. He had to know.

"Tomorrow," Bobby said sharply. "It'll still be there tomorrow, when the post office is open."

Saul stared at him, incredulously. "We can't leave it," he protested. It would be like...it would be like turning his back on them. Not acknowledging the pain, not acknowledging _them. _"We could be in and out in twenty minutes, easy. No one would ever even know."

Bobby's mouth was tight. "You want to bet that Patrick hasn't thought of that? He called _after _the post office was shut. You want to bet that he hasn't called the cops, told them to expect a break in?"

No. No, Saul could imagine that happening really, really easily. And if he was in prison, there would be no way he could help them. And he had no doubt that Patrick would take great pleasure in that.

"We've still got leads, Saul," Bobby said carefully. "We're not going to be sitting around doing nothing. Maybe...maybe we'll get lucky and we'll have them back before the post office even opens."

Yeah. Not likely. Not at all likely. This was all far too planned, and the only wild card was Patrick's instability. "He wasn't like that before," he told Bobby heavily. "He was a vicious, sadistic bastard who enjoyed himself far too much...but he wasn't crazy. He was a dirty cop, but he wasn't insane." He hadn't been the malicious, giggling animal Saul had seen on the tape, heard on the phone. And that was the man that had Rusty and Danny.

Bobby sighed and shook his head, and the worry in his eyes was sharp and frantic.

What would happen if Patrick got tired of this game?

* * *

The New York FBI Field Office was not exactly somewhere that Saul wanted to spend time. A little like walking straight into the lion's den, carrying barbeque sauce. Of course, right now, he wasn't even thinking of it. Right now, the lions weren't what he was worried about.

At this time of night, the building was practically deserted. Bobby had waved his badge, told a few lies, and headed unerringly for the labs in the basement. The bright-eyed kid they'd found there had seemed absolutely confident that he could get pictures off the tape.

Bobby had asked Saul to wait outside. He'd said there was no need for them both to see it again. Said that since Saul knew Patrick best, he should try and figure out what Patrick was going to do next. Really, Saul had a feeling it was because Bobby wasn't quite sure that he could sit through it without betraying his feelings, his personal connection. And ordinarily, that would have irritated him beyond reason. Except he wasn't completely sure whether he could either. Pragmatism before pride. This was too important.

He stretched out on the hard seat in the corridor, closed his eyes and struggled to think. What would Patrick do? What the fuck would Patrick do?

"'scuse me?" The voice was young and nervous and seemed to come out of nowhere.

He opened his eyes and looked out at a young man dressed as a motorcycle courier, holding a familiar-looking package.

_No._

"Are you Saul Bloom?" the courier went on. "Only I was told to deliver this here."

It wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible.

"That's me," he admitted, and he signed for the package in a dream and before he knew it the courier was gone and he was roaming the corridors, looking for an empty office and a VCR.

He shut the door behind him.

Opened the package.

Took the tape he'd known he would find, pushed it into the machine.

The TV flickered to life immediately and Patrick was smiling at him.

"Hello, Saul," he whispered. "Did you really think you could keep anything from me? I know where you are. I know what you're doing. And there's a price to be paid."

The camera swivelled round and Danny and Rusty were there, looking just like before, bloodied and half-dressed.

The two men from before were dragging Rusty across the floor, and his feet were hardly touching the ground, and he was looking back at Danny, looking to where Danny was held and helpless.

"Fuck off, already!" he said, and there was barely controlled panic in his voice. "_No!" _and he'd turned, was looking at something that Saul couldn't see.

"Let go of him you sick bastard," Danny was snarling, fear and fury overcoming him.

"_Danny!" _It was a plea, childish and desperate, and they'd dragged Rusty into a chair now, they were holding him down, and it seemed like everyone in the room except Saul knew what was going to happen.

Danny was looking straight at Patrick now. Looking at Patrick, not looking at Saul, not even looking at Rusty, and there were the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "Don't...don't do this. _Please." _

Patrick giggled openly. "I have to do this. Your father made sure I had to do this. He doesn't care enough about you to keep you safe. You believe me, don't you?"

Saul could see it on Danny's face. He did. He believed Patrick and he wouldn't even _look _at Saul, and when Saul turned to look at Rusty, he could see the hurt and the betrayal and the beginnings of hatred.

"_No,_" he moaned, and this was the last thing he wanted, the last thing he'd ever wanted, and he'd give anything, suffer any torment, give up everything, if only it would take that look from Rusty's eyes.

"I can help with that," Patrick offered cheerily, and he was walking past Saul, and Saul was powerless to stop him, and he was leaning over Rusty, his fingers stroking gently over Rusty's eyelids, around Rusty's eyes, and Rusty was trying to get away, was flinching away from the monster, was begging Saul to make it stop, and Saul _couldn't. _

"A tooth for a tooth...and an eye for an eye," Patrick murmured, and then the corkscrew was in his hand and he stabbed and gouged and _twisted _and when he drew his hand back the blood was flowing down and over his fingers, and the screaming was never, ever going to fade away.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Another Monday, another chapter. Ten chapters in a row when I said they were going to be. Has this ever happened before? I doubt it.**

* * *

"Saul!"

He woke with a start and a choked apology and it took him a moment to realise that he wasn't in that room with Rusty and Danny, that there was no second tape, that he hadn't just watched Patrick gouge out Rusty's eye...That the boys didn't blame him. _(Yet_.)

None of that had happened.

_(As far as he knew. Really, that could be happening right now and he'd never even know until it was a lifetime too late_.)

Forcing himself back to rigid and impassive self-control, he looked up to see Bobby standing over him, holding two polystyrene cups of polystyrene coffee.

He didn't know what Bobby had just seen or heard. He didn't want to know, and he was grateful when Bobby just passed him a coffee and sat down next to him without saying anything.

Scalding hot and tasteless. Still seemed better than sleeping.

"It's going to be another half hour or so," Bobby commented. "He needs to isolate the right frames, or something." He shrugged. "I don't understand it."

Saul nodded. Long as it worked, he figured they didn't need to understand it. "He suspect anything?"

"Too busy being horrified," Bobby said wearily. "I don't think that's the kind of tape people normally bring him."

No. Saul would vaguely hope not.

They sat in silence for a few moments, drinking the coffee, keeping each other company.

"It's been about three months since I saw them," Bobby remarked suddenly. "It was in Baltimore, right after they got back. I was running this Captain Ahab on a guy, Darrell Martin, and I happened to have a part going spare and they happened to be in town."

His voice was gruff and Saul suspected that neither of those fortunate coincidences were exactly coincidental.

"So, day before, and we need Martin out of his hotel room, right?" Bobby continued. "And it was all set up, he had this meeting, and it fell to pieces. And I'm sitting there, trying to figure out if we should postpone, trying to figure out if we _could _postpone, and Danny just smiles and says 'We've got it covered' and they vanish. They hadn't even _talked _about it before. They hadn't even done one of those things where they look at each other and you know there's something going on."

Yeah. Saul knew exactly what Bobby was talking about. "So what happened?"

"Flowers," Bobby said succinctly. "Lots and lots of flowers. They must have bought up every florist in a twelve block radius. Had it all delivered straight to Martin's room. Looked like an explosion in a rain forest and they just kept coming."

Saul blinked, picturing the scene.

"Turns out Martin had really bad allergies," Bobby went on. "I hadn't known that. I don't even know how _Rusty _knew that." He smiled fondly. "But somehow, he did, and the next thing is, Martin is sneezing everywhere and running down to reception to complain, and we're in the room, clearing out the flowers, and planting everything that needs planted." The smile faded. "I've never seen anyone like them."

"There is no one like them," Saul answered quietly.

"Yeah." Bobby's voice was soft. There was a long, long silence.

"Uh, I've got those pictures?" The lab tech kid was standing in front of them awkwardly, holding out an envelope. "Here. I hope...this is what you wanted, right? Just the bad guys? I made sure to crop the kids out of the picture."

"Thanks," Bobby said, with a smile, taking the envelope out of the kid's hand and flicking through the pictures. "You did a good job."

Saul glanced at them. The faces of the monsters stared back at him.

* * *

Even from the outside, the Red Diamond was not an attractive sight. Saul glanced up at the neon sign, frantically informing all and sundry that live girls could be found there right through the night and grimaced. He hoped someone in here could tell them something.

The lighting was dim, the music was thudding, the floor was sticky underfoot and the place was half empty. Oh, that wasn't good. He'd been hoping there'd be more people. More potential sources of information.

He glanced towards the stage and the girl working the pole there and the half dozen apathetically eager men that surrounded her. None of them looked familiar. There were a few others in booths, a few other girls involved in private dances, but even as Saul stared at each in turn, he knew that Mike and his friend weren't among them.

"You really think that Danny and Rusty would come here?" he asked Bobby in an undertone.

Bobby shook his head quickly, distaste on his face. "Have to admit, I can't picture it."

Saul breathed a sigh of relief. Bobby might not be a neutral observer, but he was closer to impartiality than Saul was, and if he thought that Danny and Rusty wouldn't be seen dead in this place, it was all the more likely. And that was good for more than just his own feelings. Meant that it was more likely that his conjectures were correct, that Rusty had lifted the matchbook from a pocket and left it behind as a clue. Of course, there was still the possibility that they'd been here as part of some con, but even that was unlikely. They wouldn't have held onto the matchbook. Wouldn't have wanted anything that could tie them in as evidence.

"You check with the bar staff," he instructed Bobby, nodding towards the bar in the corner. "I'll ask the girls." Splitting up would get them answers that bit quicker. And Bobby was a married man, and while it wasn't like Molly wouldn't understand, this way round just seemed that bit better.

Bobby nodded and walked off. Saul took a deep breath and walked up to the nearest girl who wasn't doing anything. She looked maybe about twenty one. Danny's age and wearing too much make-up and too few clothes, and Saul felt a surge of pity.

She looked up at him disinterestedly as he approached, and he made sure to look her in the eyes. "It's twenty dollars for a lap dance, thirty dollars if you're looking for something more private. Anything else can be negotiated," she told him, cracking her gum.

He nodded and showed her a wad of bills. "I'm just looking for information. Can we sit down?"

She shrugged. "Sure. It's your dime."

He sat in the booth and gestured for her to sit opposite him. "So, what's your name?" he asked, because it was always a good place to start.

"You call me Tiara," she said, putting just a little bit of seduction into his smile.

Saul ignored it. "I'm looking for some men. I think they might have been here." He slid the photos across the table.

"Never seen them before in my life," she said immediately, without looking.

He nodded and carefully dropped a fifty dollar bill on top of the photos. It vanished practically before it hit the table.

She looked down at the pictures for a long moment. "Yeah. Yeah, I've seen this guy," she said, pointing at the photo of Mike. "Not sure about the other two. Maybe. We get a lot of guys in here. After a while they all look the same. But this guy? I remember him. Once or twice he's got a little grabby."

"You know anything about him?" Saul asked quickly, holding his breath.

"Nah." She shook her head, dashing his hopes. "He's not one of mine. Ruby. That's who you need to speak to. Ruby Rose. He's one of her regulars."

"Is she in?" He glanced round the club hopefully.

"Not tonight," she said. "She'll be at home."

There was something about the way she said it. Some suggestion that she was holding out for something more. "You know where she lives," he stated.

She laughed. "Hey, mister. I can't give out that kind of information. You could be anyone."

He could be. Making sure she saw, he pulled another couple of notes out of his wallet. "You know where she lives."

The notes were snatched out of his hand. "The Good Rest Motel. It's deep in the Lower Eastside. Don't round there without making out a will."

He smiled at her, genuine and open and very, very grateful. "Thank you, Tiara. You've been very helpful."

She blinked at him for a moment, like she was really looking at him. "It's Tracy," she said softly, like she hadn't even meant to.

"Thank you Tracy," Saul said, and when he stood up to leave, he left another fifty lying on the table.

He knew where they were going next.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, the end to last chapter was a dream. There were clues. Of course, that means we still don't know what really happened during that phonecall...**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: InSilva thinks I should concentrate on less fic at once. Sigh. Maybe I should just ask her which fic I should abandon...**

* * *

By the time they got to the Good Rest Motel it was coming up for half two in the morning.

Bobby stared at the row of doors and grimaced. "_Not _a good time for a house call," he said in a low voice.

Yeah. Saul had to agree. They were going to have to talk fast if they wanted the girl to listen. But when the alternative was waiting till morning, well, that was no kind of alternative at all.

Bobby hadn't got anything useful from the bar tender. Yes, he recognised Mike. No, he didn't know his name. No, he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him and cared rather less. Ruby was the best lead they had and it had taken a moment and five bucks to get the concierge to give out her room number.

He knocked on the door gently.

Immediately a muffled voice came from the other side of the door. "Go away."

He and Bobby exchanged a surprised look. "Tiara must have tipped her off we were coming," he mouthed and Bobby nodded.

"Ma'am?" Bobby tried politely. "We just want to ask you a few questions."

"I don't want to talk to you," she said at once, softly.

He didn't really blame her. They'd got her name from a strip joint and they were knocking on her door in the middle of the night. _Not _talking to them was probably the most sensible thing she could do. Unfortunately he couldn't accept that. "Please," he called. "It's important. Tiara said you might be able to help us."

She yanked the door open a fraction and Saul caught a glimpse of blonde hair, frightened eyes and a baseball bat. "I don't want to help you. Can't you just leave me alone?" she hissed.

"We don't mean to disturb you," he said apologetically. "We were just hoping that you could tell us anything you might know about these men?" He held the photos up to the door.

"I don't know anything about anything!" she said in a rush and a whisper. "_Please _go."

He paused. She was obviously terrified, but she'd been speaking softly all this time. There was someone she didn't want to wake up in the room behind her. And she hadn't woken them for help, so it probably wasn't a boyfriend or a relative. And that must mean...

He swallowed hard and looked through the gap in the doors, into her eyes. "They've kidnapped my children," he said, with soft, desperate intensity. "Please. I just want them back safe. If you know _anything..._" He was begging and he wasn't afraid to let it show in his voice.

There was a long, long pause and she was looking at him and then looking back into the room, and finally she pulled the door wide open. "Try anything and I'll kill you," she told them levelly, the baseball bat raised menacingly. "And don't wake my daughter."

"Of course," he agreed thankfully, and they followed her inside.

He and Bobby sat on the lumpy, faded sofa and watched Ruby silently fuss around with the kettle and little packets of instant coffee and two mugs. She'd asked if they wanted coffee, and he'd agreed, anything to put her at ease, and now she was using it as an excuse not to look at them. Her hands were shaking. He really hated this.

Her daughter was asleep in the bed, almost invisible but for a mass of blonde curls. He hadn't more than glanced at her, not wanting to do anything that Ruby could possibly interpret as threatening, but he'd guess she couldn't be more than four or five. No life for a kid.

"I don't have any milk or cream or nothing," Ruby said, and she lifted her chin in an unconscious move of defensive pride. "I ran out."

He took the chipped mug out of her hand. "Thank you," he told her gently.

Bobby was looking over at the wall in the far corner, a small, amused smile visible on his face. Looked like someone had been drawing on the wall. Little stick figures in crayon, dancing round in circles.

Ruby followed his expression, as she handed him his coffee and her mouth tightened sharply. "I'll clean it up before we go," she said at once. "Long as the manager doesn't see, it doesn't count."

"No," Bobby looked at her apologetically. "I was just thinking...my son did that the other week. With his mother's favourite lipstick, no less."

She smiled slightly. "Really?"

"Oh, yes," Bobby nodded. "Apparently he had to draw portraits of all the dinosaurs so that the King Dinosaur could recognise them."

"Lizzie was having a party," Ruby explained. "She needed more people to dance than just her and teddy."

They shared a smile, one parent to another, and Ruby seemed more relaxed now, and that was good.

Saul tried not to admit to himself that he was feeling left out. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he were missing out, and he wondered if Rusty had ever drawn on the walls, wondered if Danny had ever liked dinosaurs, wondered what they'd been like when they really were children. A passing regret. He wouldn't dwell on it.

"Ma'am - " he began softly.

" – call me Ruby," she interrupted, and she must have seen something in his face, because she quickly added. "'s my real name."

He nodded. "Ruby," he said instead "We really need to know if you've seen these men."

The smile vanished and she took the photos from his hand and stared at them intently for a long moment.

"Yeah," she said after a long moment, holding up the pictures of Mike and his friend. "Yeah, I've seen these two. At the club. This one," She held up the photo of Mike. "He's a regular. Comes in a couple of times a week and he always asks for me." Her fingers gripped the picture tightly. "It's not like I can pick and choose my customers, you know. Someone wants a dance, that's it. I didn't want to do this. I started working at the Diamond as a bartender. I make a mean mojito..." Her voice trailed off in pain and hope.

"I'd like to try it sometime," he said, smiling at her.

"The secret is to use fresh mint," she said absently and sighed. "His name is Mike. I don't know last names, I'm sorry. His friend has been in a few times. I heard Mike call him Dirk."

Dirk! It might not be much, but it was _something. _"Can you tell us anything else?" he asked eagerly.

She shrugged. "He's got wandering hands and a mean temper. Both of them do, actually." She bit her lip, seemingly trying to think. "Once I heard Mike say that he'd come straight from work. He was with a bunch of other guys that time...I got the impression that it was some construction project? There's a company near the club that handle all the local contracts. And I think that they must live nearby, cos one time, when I was leaving, they seemed to be walking home."

"Which direction?" Saul asked with quick urgency, and if they knew _that _they might just be getting close to something. Even if they started knocking on random doors, hoping for a miracle.

"Oh..." She shook her head, getting upset. "I don't know! I'm sorry!"

"It's okay," he said, automatically soothing, because he didn't want to upset her, not just because she was less likely to remember.

"Do you remember if they were walking towards you or away from you?" Bobby asked quietly. "Take your time."

She took a deep breath and glanced over to where Lizzie was sleeping. "They...were walking towards me. I had to cross the street to stop them seeing me. And I was walking home...here..."

"So they were walking East," Saul finished with a smile. "Thank you, Ruby."

"I wish I could tell you more," she said softly, and she was looking straight at him, pity in her eyes. "How old are your kids?"

"Eighteen and twenty," he said, and he watched her eyes widen.

"Oh!" she said blankly. She'd been thinking they were children like her Lizzie, he knew that.

"Kids are kids no matter how old they get," he said simply.

"Oh," she said again, and he felt ridiculous - she couldn't be more than a handful of years older than Danny herself. She was smiling though, wonder in her eyes. "And you're going after them?"

"Of course," he said indignantly.

She looked down back down and busied herself with the pictures again. "I've never seen this man before," she said, indicating Patrick. "I don't think he's ever been in the club before."

He nodded, not especially surprised. "He's a dangerous man," he warned her.

"Can't you just pay the ransom?" she asked quietly.

He sighed, weary. "If he was asking for a ransom I'd have paid it in a heartbeat," he told her truthfully.

"Yeah," she said, looking back over to Lizzie. "I believe you." Her eyes flicked back to him. "What did they do?"

"It wasn't them," he said immediately. "They did nothing. I...was responsible for him getting arrested. This is revenge."

Bobby cleared his throat pointedly, and Saul could see the doubt in his eyes, the suggestion that maybe sharing everything wasn't a good idea.

"Sounds dangerous," she said, her eyes fearful.

"Yeah," he agreed, and he could see she was worrying about Lizzie. "We should go. _Thank _you," he said again. "You've been very helpful."

She smiled at them nervously, as they stood up. "I'm working at the club tonight and tomorrow." She must have seen something in their faces, some hint of pity or regret, because she frowned defensively. "There are worse ways to make a living. I just dance, that's all. I don't go in for any of that happy ending crap that some of the other girls do."

"I'm sorry," Saul said immediately, lifting up his hands apologetically. "We didn't mean to offend you."

"It's okay," she said after a moment. "Anyway, if Mike or Dirk come in, I could call you?"

It was unlikely, but it was always possible. "Thank you," he said again, scribbling down his number quickly.

"And if I see that other guy - " she began and Saul's head snapped up in horror.

" - if you see Patrick, you start running in the opposite direction," he said fiercely. He'd heard all the stories about how Patrick left girls looking. He didn't want that for anyone. Even if it meant having to wait to hear about Rusty and Danny. "Don't stop until you know you're safe and _then _you can think about calling me."

She was looking at him strangely and her eyes were shining. "I...I can do that."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Just so you know, since I imagine that anyone who reads this is reading 'The More Things Change', I swear I really am nearly done with the last part of the chapter. It just needs tidied up now. Anyway, hope you enjoy the latest installment of Mondayfic. I'm off to make cookies for a demanding friend.

* * *

It was nearly four by the time they got settled in to the cop shop, and a lot of fast talking and a few quick misuses of Bobby's legitimate authority, had them ensconsed in a small room with a pot of coffee, a box of doughnuts, and a mountain of files. Everyone on the books who'd ever used the names Mike or Dirk. And the files just kept coming.

Five in the morning. And he was exhausted. It had been eighteen hours now. Eighteen hours, not even a full day, but it had been the longest eighteen hours of his life. Not _knowing_...it was killing him. And right now anything could be happening.

He wished Patrick would talk to him face to face. None of this sneaking around, none of these cryptic messages and horror tapes. Face to face and Saul would be on his knees, if that's what Patrick wanted. Begging him to spare the boys. And if he knew they were _safe _then let him have that face to face meeting and a chance - just one chance - to let Patrick realise his mistake.

He wondered how the boys were right now. Wondered what they were doing...what was being done to them. Seemed like a part of his mind, or a part of his soul, was still playing that last phone message over and over. The absolute terror he'd heard in their voices...he couldn't imagine what could make them sound like that. No matter how he tried. No matter how many awful possibilities dawned.

He just wanted this to be over.

He just wanted them back safe.

And there was a part of him that was already wondering how he was ever going to look them in the eyes again.

"Patrick called Danny and Rusty your sons," Bobby said quietly, not looking up from the pile of mugshots in front of him.

Saul's fingernails dug into his hands. "Yeah," he said, as non committal as he could manage. That was what all this was about, after all. That was what made all this his fault.

"And that line at Ruby's," Bobby went on, turning a page meticulously. "You said the same thing."

"Yeah," he said again. That had been a simple truth; they'd kidnapped his children.

There was a long silence and Bobby was watching him now, and in the end he had to look up. There was no hint of blame in Bobby's eyes, just an unvoiced question that he had to answer.

"Yes," he said gruffly. He wasn't going to deny how he felt. Anyone would be...anyone with a soul would be proud.

Bobby nodded, and he actually smiled a little. "Okay then. Good."

He looked back down at the mugshots in front of him, absently turning a page. And he stared. "What do you think?" he asked, quick and anxious.

"That's Dirk alright," Bobby confirmed excitedly, flicking through the folder for a reference. "Dirk Hadley, DUI, four years ago..." He looked up at Saul almost blankly. "There's an address."

Thank God. Let this be over soon.

* * *

The woman who answered the door was rude and unhelpful and absolutely adamant that she'd never even met anyone by the name of Dirk Hadley, that she didn't recognise the men in the photos, that she'd lived in this apartment by herself for two years now and that this was a lousy time in the morning to be knocking on anyone's doors.

Saul longed to push past her, to search the apartment from top to bottom, to rip apart the walls and the floorboards, to tear the place apart looking for any trace of the boys.

All the way on the drive over here he'd been imagining Dirk opening the door. Picturing it in his head, the look of surprise, and then Bobby had him shoved up against the door, forcing him to the ground and cuffing him - let's see how he likes it - while Saul rushed past Bobby and surprised Patrick and Mike in the other room, and Bobby's gun was in his hand, and Patrick tried to rush him, and pulling the trigger was so _easy, _and then Rusty and Danny were in the next room, tied up and roughed up but alive and safe and whole, and Saul would cut them free and they'd all live happily ever after.

That was what he'd been hoping for.

Instead they'd got this woman who wouldn't stop yelling and who was only answering their questions because of Bobby's badge.

And she was also telling the truth.

Saul really, really wished she wasn't telling the truth.

The door closed in their faces. Their best lead; gone.

"We still got a name," Bobby told him quietly. "It's better than we had last night. You know lots of people, I know lots of people...we'll make some calls. Someone must know him."

Yeah. Someone must know him. And while they were making their phone calls, trying to track down just who that someone was, Patrick had all the time he wanted to play with Rusty and Danny, and with pliers or a corkscrew or... With an effort, Saul resisted the urge to scream and punch the door to matchsticks.

"The post office will be open soon," he said instead. "Let's go see what he left us."

* * *

When they got there, there was still a half hour till the post office actually opened. And that was frustrating in a way, but in another way it really didn't matter. They knew that Patrick would be expecting them - or rather Saul - to arrive first thing. If ever there was a good time and place to set a trap, this was it.

Fortunately they both had a lot of experience in spotting ambushes and Saul was casually scanning the area for anyone suspicious while Bobby checked out all the places where _he'd _set up surveillance.

Half an hour careful searching yielded nothing.

Good.

Bobby was looking thoughtful. "Don't think he has the resources to keep watch on this place twenty four hours."

"Just him, Mike and Dirk?" Saul asked. That was certainly all they'd seen, but it wasn't safe to assume anything.

"That's my bet," Bobby said with a shrug.

They looked towards the front door which was just being unlocked. "I'll go in," Saul said firmly. "You stay out here. We can't be absolutely certain they aren't paying off some of the staff and if they see you going near that box, they'll know I got someone else involved."

Bobby nodded in agreement. He didn't look especially happy about it.

Saul walked into the post office as nonchalantly as he could, and despite all their precautions, he was still half expecting someone to come up behind him. He got all the way to the PO box and nothing happened.

There was a large envelope inside, his name printed neatly on the front.

He resisted the urge to tear it open there and then.

He didn't know what was in there, but he was sure it wasn't going to be good.

* * *

The envelope sat on the counter in front of them for a long moment, dark and ominous and threatening, and as much _as _he _needed_ to open it - it had been burning a hole in his pocket all the way back to his apartment - he was terrified of what he might find.

With trembling hands he tore it open and the top and gingerly emptied out the contents.

Two photographs.

Both close ups of a hand, and as Saul stared he could see the sores and welts, the freshly patterned dark bruises encircling each wrist, and over all of it, the angry, blistered, weeping burns that spiralled out from the very worst of the bruising, trailing sporadically up the length of the hand and down the arm, out of view of the photo.

Rusty's right hand. Danny's left. He knew beyond all shadow of a doubt.

"Handcuff marks," Bobby said in a voice that barely trembled. "Cuffs been kept too tight for too long."

"Four days too long," Saul said hoarsely, because Bobby hadn't.

"Yeah," Bobby agreed very, very quietly.

"And the burns?" Saul managed to ask.

"Saul..." Bobby shook his head, looking like he wanted to never say another word in his life.

"The burns," Saul said again, because he had to _know. _Patrick had wanted him to see this and he had to know. "You've seen something like this before."

Bobby sighed and he was staring blindly at the photos, not looking at Saul for a second. "The cuffs are metal. Attach them to a radiator or a boiler, and when it heats up, the metal conducts. And there's no way to escape it."

"For four days," Saul said again.

"Yeah."

Bobby had kept his word detached, kept his descriptions brief. Saul didn't have that luxury. He could _imagine_.

_Rusty and Danny sitting on the floor in some dark little room somewhere, their arms pulled above their heads, a constant source of agony, pinching and scouring and burning by turn, and the radiator behind them was constantly scalding and no matter how far they moved forwards, they couldn't get away from it. Time passed and they had no way of knowing how much. Silence ruled now, and everything that needed to be said had been said a long time ago, and they leaned in close together and _waited.

Saul stared at Bobby. "Rusty doesn't like being trapped," he said, and he didn't recognise his own voice anymore, too weak, too broken.

Somehow, and he really wasn't exactly sure _how, _he had wound up sitting on the sofa, a glass of whisky pressed into his hand.

Wasn't even ten in the morning.

He drank it down anyway and let it burn.

Beside him, he knew, Bobby was doing the same. They carefully weren't looking at each other. Right now, he needed to focus on getting himself under control. They both did. There wasn't time to let the horror and guilt roam free.

The pictures were still on the kitchen counter, telling a story of pain and misery and useless struggle, and Saul couldn't care. He couldn't let himself care.

"That's just what he was doing while he was waiting," he said to Bobby, keeping his gaze fixed on a point on the wall opposite. "Last night, I made him angry."

Bobby said nothing.

"It's going to be worse today," he said quietly. There would be more pain. More torments. He couldn't do anything to stop it.

Bobby still didn't say anything. There wasn't any reassurance to offer.

Saul closed his eyes for a moment. "What now?" he asked.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thirteen chapters. Huh. Wonder how long this fic is? **

**A/N2: Edited, because apparently 1972 to 1980 isn't eighteen years. Huh. Who knew?  
**

* * *

Phone calls. Lots and lots of phone calls. He called everyone in town he could think of. Everyone who knew everyone and then anyone who might know anyone. Jacques and Henry and Larry and Erica and Marcus and a dozen others. And some of them remembered Patrick from twelve years ago but none of them knew what he might be doing now. And none of them knew Dirk Hadley at all.

He hadn't exactly been expecting them to. But they all knew other people and he'd told them that this was as urgent as it could be and they'd call him back when they had any news.

Like Bobby had said, someone must know them.

All leads exhausted, he passed the phone to Bobby in silence and went and sat on the sofa.

"I need to call Molly first," Bobby told him quietly. "She'll want to know what's happening."

Saul nodded. Yeah, he would think she did. With as little as they had, at least they were doing _something. _Molly had to stay at home and wait. That had to be so much worse.

He tried not to listen to Bobby's soft words of love and worry and optimism, or the sheer, happy relief when she put Linus on.

Instead, he held the empty glass tight in his hand and wondered if Patrick was trying to call him right now. It could happen. After all, Patrick would know he'd have gone to the post office this morning. Knew he'd have seen this picture. Surely Patrick would want to know what effect he was having. It had been almost a day now, Patrick _had _to want to see his reaction, had to want to hear Saul's agony, listen to him plead... Before, Patrick had been a vicious and sadistic bastard. Impossible to imagine that had changed. He'd want to _know _that Saul was hurting.

Which he was.

Nothing in his life had ever hurt this much.

He looked up hopefully as he heard Bobby dialling a new number and immediately jumping into demands for the information he'd asked for last night. Impossible to tell how well it was going.

"Yeah...yeah...yeah, I see...how about...yeah. Yeah."

Bobby hung up and looked back round at him. "Morris has found something."

"_What_?" he demanded at once, practically before Bobby had finished speaking.

"He wouldn't tell me over the phone," Bobby said slowly. "He said it was important. He wanted to meet face to face. And he sounded nervous."

Important? Saul frowned, wondering. What they needed was to know _where. _What else could possibly be important. And what couldn't be said over the phone?

Bobby sighed and looked uncomfortable. "Saul...Morris thinks this is an official request, more or less. And he's good and he's paranoid. If you turn up, we can pass you off as a federal agent for a while, but we don't have the time to create enough of a background. If he does any checking - and he will - we'll be in trouble."

"You want to go alone," Saul stated. He didn't like this at all.

"I have to," Bobby said, and he didn't sound altogether happy about it either. "I'll come back as soon as I can."

"Please." He looked again at the phone.

"You think Patrick is going to call?" Bobby asked, not missing it.

"I think it's possible," he said quietly. And he didn't want to risk not being here. Didn't want to risk the possible consequences of Patrick feeling ignored.

Bobby nodded soberly. "I'll see you soon," he promised.

Saul watched him walk out the door and settled in to wait.

* * *

Somehow, and he'd never understand how, but somehow he slept peacefully for an hour or so.

He was woken by the sound of the phone ringing.

Hardly daring to breathe, he grabbed the receiver. "Hello?"

"Saul," Patrick said, and the smile in his voice was loud and clear. "Hi. How _nice _to hear your voice. How are you?"

He swallowed. "Rusty...Danny...where are they? Are they alright?"

"Oh, you know I couldn't tell you that," Patrick chided with a slight giggle. "It would ruin the surprise if I told you. You need to be patient."

"They're not part of this," he said desperately. "They've done nothing."

"Neither had my son," Patrick snarled. "And you still ruined his life. You _killed _him."

"I never even met him," Saul argued. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I don't know him."

"His name was Ben," Patrick said, ignoring him. "My Benny. Did you know that?"

"No," he said softly. "No I didn't."

"I want you to picture him," Patrick went on. "In your mind. He had sandy brown hair. Blue eyes. Dimples on his chin. And he was always smiling."

The problem of imagination was that it couldn't be turned off. Saul could see that little boy. And he didn't know what had happened. But there was an ending, and somehow it was his fault, and the boy was smiling in his mind.

Patrick's voice was soft. And it trembled. "He liked baseball and Scooby Doo and peanut butter cookies. He played ball with me in the park every Saturday. He hated fish. He once hid a piece of haddock down the back of a radiator, rather than eat it, and we didn't find it again for three days. He played Schroeder when his school did 'You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown'. He wouldn't stop waving at me and his mother, even after the teacher told him to stop. He wanted to be a cop when he grew up. Just like his Daddy."

There was a long silence.

"That's what you destroyed, Saul," Patrick said at last. "That's what you took away from me. I want you to think about that."

He was. He really was. He could imagine the little boy very easily. Young and hopeful and blameless.

"And I want you to think about what I'm taking away from you," Patrick went on in a low voice. "Your children. And they are, aren't they? You care about them just as much as if they were really yours."

His hand tightened around the phone.

"Remember, I've been watching you," Patrick said. "I already know the answer, I just like asking the question. You love them like your own."

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes. Patrick - "

" - would you die for them?" Patrick interrupted curiously. "I would have died for Benny, you know. In a heartbeat. Would you die for Danny? For Rusty?"

"_Yes,_" he said again, because there was no point in denying. "Patrick, let them go. Please."

"Oh, now _that's _not in the rules," Patrick said, laughing cheerfully. "And we've still not even finished with your last little transgression. These penalties are really piling up."

"Don't hurt them," he begged helplessly. "Please, please, don't hurt them. Take me instead. Hurt me instead."

There was a moment of silence. "So," Patrick said at last. "Here's the deal. You tell me one thing I could do to you that would hurt more than this. Make me believe it would hurt you more and I'll do it."

There was nothing. Nothing at all. And still he racked his brains desperately, trying to think of something he could make Patrick _believe _would be worse.

"No?" Patrick giggled. "Thought not. So how about this one? You think of my little, sandy-haired boy...really think of him. And you tell me. Is there anything you could ever do to make up for what I've lost?"

No. Of course there wasn't.

"_Then why should I let them go_?" Patrick demanded without waiting for an answer. "I'm going to carry on hurting your children. I'm going to hurt them and I'm going to let you wonder about exactly what I'm doing, and it's not going to stop till they're dead. And after that, we still won't be even. Why should I let them go?"

"Because they did nothing," Saul shouted hoarsely. "_This isn't fair."_

_"Fair?" _Patrick laughed for a very long time. "There _is _no fair, Saul. There's only what's _right. _And this is right."

The line went dead.

Saul threw the phone against the wall.

Blindly he stared at it for a long moment, resisting the urge to pick it up and throw it all over again.

_God. _

He didn't know anything more. He hadn't learned anything in that phone call except that Patrick wasn't going to stop. Not for anything.

Beneath the madness, Saul had heard the self-righteous anger, the inconsolable grief. Pain unbearable.

Oh, he knew what it was like to look into the eyes of the one responsible and want to tear them to shreds. Why not help karma along a bit? Do what was _right. _

Patrick had lost his son and he wanted to make Saul hurt the way he was hurting.

But Saul would never think of doing this - the thought made him feel sick inside - and he had never hurt Patrick's son. Somewhere, somehow, there had been some hideous mistake, and if he could just prove that, if he could just tell Patrick what had _really _happened, maybe, maybe he could be persuaded to let the boys go.

And once they were safe...Saul wasn't going to forgive Patrick. No matter that he understood the pain, he wasn't going to forgive Patrick.

He would do what was right.

He grabbed a piece of paper and started to write a note for Bobby, explaining everything. Then he paused. Patrick knew where he lived. This wasn't safe.

Instead, he phoned Molly. "It's me," he said when she answered.

"Have you found them?" she asked immediately and, just as quickly, "Is Bobby alright?"

"Bobby's fine," Saul assured her. "He's out meeting one of his contacts who knows something." He swallowed hard. "We...we haven't found them yet."

There was a small, hopeful voice in the background. "Mommy, can I have a cookie?"

"Yes, of course," Molly said, sounding a little distracted, and Saul wasn't so sure she really knew what she was agreeing to. "Just take it through to the other room though, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy," the kid said cheerfully and Saul's heart ached.

He waited a few seconds. "Patrick just called," he said eventually.

Her voice was fearful. "Did he - "

" - we don't know what he did," he interrupted quickly. "He wouldn't let me talk to them. Wouldn't tell me anything." He sighed. "He was talking about his son. Ben Knight. This all seems to be about him. I'm going to try and find out more. When Bobby calls, tell him I went to the registrars."

"Of course," she agreed quickly. "Saul, be careful."

"I will," he said quietly. "Bye, Molly."

He hung up the phone and quickly scribbled a note for Bobby - "Call her" - that couldn't hurt if it fell into the wrong hands. Then he headed out.

* * *

The woman at the registrars responded well to a charming smile, a fake Justice Department ID and a story about potential identity fraud and it took an hour or so but she brought him coffee and the records he needed.

Benjamin Knight. Born 1st February 1962. Died 20th November 1980. Narcotic overdose.

He was eighteen. Rusty's age. That little boy who liked Scooby Doo and waved at his mother all the way through the school play had hardly had a chance to grow up at all.

Saul shoved the wave of pity aside ruthlessly. The kid had ODed. He had no idea how Patrick was blaming him for that, and that had been the point of all this.

(_The boy had been eighteen._)


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who pointed out that 1972 to 1980 is not eighteen years. I meant 1962. Would you believe it was a typo? Yeah, maths isn't my strong point.**

* * *

Strange coincidence, but when he walked out of the registrars, Bobby was just walking up the steps. They exchanged a long look, each searching for who knew _what. _Answers. Information. Reassurance.

Saul didn't think that either of them found what they were looking for.

He jerked his head silently towards the bar on the corner opposite and Bobby nodded and turned away, and moments later they were sitting at the corner table, as far from anyone else as they could possibly be.

"Molly said Patrick phoned you," Bobby said quietly. "Tell me."

He kept his face blank and his voice neutral and he told Bobby about the phone call and about Benny Knight like it didn't touch him at all.

"It's not your fault," Bobby told him quietly, all the same.

He met Bobby's gaze evenly. "Of course not," he agreed. "What did Morris want?"

Bobby sighed. "Found out why Patrick isn't in jail. Some point, about a year ago, he wound up sharing a cell with a mob boss." He shook his head. "Ex cop - ex dirty cop - and a mob boss. Not sure _who _was responsible for that, but somehow it worked out. Along the way, Patrick got to hear some information. Enough to bring some pretty high up people down."

"He cut a deal?" Saul asked quickly.

"Yes," Bobby agreed heavily. "Reduced jail time...and a new identity."

"What?" Saul demanded, and this was what they needed to know, this was what they'd been waiting for.

"Morris didn't know," Bobby said, and he held his hand up as Saul must have betrayed his impatience. "He thinks he'll be able to find out though. Given a couple of hours."

"A couple of hours," Saul repeated, and that was too long, a lifetime too long.

There was the same agony in Bobby's eyes. They were so _close. _"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Saul told him, and he meant it.

"Yeah," Bobby said. "Saul, looks like Patrick got out of jail two months ago."

"And he's been setting this up ever since," Saul said quietly. Patrick had said he'd been planning. Watching. The cops had let him out and he'd headed straight for Saul, and through him, straight for Rusty and Danny.

There was a look of anger on Bobby's face, disgust even. "It's not right," he said. "He should never have been released."

But he had been. And now they had to deal with that.

* * *

A couple of hours. And the momentum had faded now, there was no place that they were running to, no contacts they had left to tap, no _plan. _

Bobby quietly suggested that they get a bite to eat while they were waiting for Morris. Reluctantly, he'd agreed and they'd found some diner and he'd sat and picked at a chicken sandwich, sipped at a cup of coffee and didn't taste a thing.

It felt like betrayal. Here they were, just sitting around, eating and drinking, surrounded by happy, cheerful people, like there was nothing wrong. Like he'd forgotten all about Rusty and Danny. Like he just didn't care what was happening to them.

He wondered when they'd last eaten. He couldn't imagine that Patrick was providing three meals a day. Probably they were hungry.

God.

He stared at the sandwich, feeling a little sick. Wouldn't help if he starved himself, and he ate the sandwich determinedly. He had to be in good shape, after all. Rusty and Danny were counting on him.

Bobby didn't say anything for a long time. Neither did he. The silence was cold and awkward.

"If Morris gives us something we can use," he said at last, aloud, and he was asking himself as much as Bobby. "What next?"

"We find them," Bobby said.

Yeah. But there was two of them against Patrick, Dirk and Mike, and they only had one gun and Patrick had the boys. "How are we going to save them?" he asked quietly, already knowing Bobby didn't know the answer.

"We'll have to see what the set up is," Bobby said heavily. "We'll find a way."

Saul wondered _how._

"Hey." Bobby was looking at him. "The worst comes to the worst, we get back up. I can turn this into an official operation. There'll be questions later, and the boys will need to do a lot of talking, but we'll make sure they're safe."

That was what mattered. And Bobby's voice was filled with confidence.

Of course, if they got the feds involved, Patrick would be arrested. And that had worked out _so well _last time.

"I'm going to go phone Morris," Bobby said, heading for the phone at the back of the diner. Saul followed him. He had to know as soon as possible and he watched Bobby dialling.

"Morris? It's Bobby. You found out - "

Fortunately Morris' voice was loud and it carried. Unfortunately, he sounded nervous. " - yeah! Took some digging though, I can tell you. Had to go through all of the guys I know in the organised crime division." He laughed. "I owe some favours there, you know?"

"You know where Patrick Knight is?" Bobby asked patiently, a frown creasing his forehead.

"He's called Roderick Symmons now," Morris announced. "That's the identity the organised crime boys set him up with. The mob is still looking for him."

"Do you have an address?" Bobby persisted and Saul closed his eyes and _prayed._

"Uh huh," Morris agreed and Saul's eyes flew open. Finally! Thank you! "One of my guys came back to me with this, just a few minutes ago. He's staying at 1016 Lansbury Street."

Oh, thank God. Thank God. Let them be there. Please let them be there.

"Thanks, Morris," Bobby said. "You got anything else for me?"

"Nah, sorry, that's all I know," Morris said. "See you around, okay?"

"Thanks, Morris," Bobby said again and he hung up.

They looked at each other for a moment in silence. They were nearly done.

* * *

1016 Lansbury Street looked deserted. The windows were dark, a couple of them were boarded up.

"What do you think?" Bobby asked quietly as they lurked on the other side of the street.

Saul shrugged. "If I was kidnapping people, I wouldn't want anyone to know I was in," he said softly. He wanted to believe that Rusty and Danny were in that house somewhere. Wanted to believe they were that close, that he'd be seeing them _soon. _

Bobby nodded. "Yeah. It's possible."

"No cars in the driveway," Saul pointed out. "Could be that no one's there." They'd certainly had at least one car earlier. And if that wasn't there, then there had to be at least one less of them, right?

"Don't want to go through the front door," Bobby said quietly.

No. Too obvious. But there was a window that looked like it led to the basement. "What do you think?" he asked, nodding towards it.

"Worth a try," Bobby agreed, and there was the same urgency in his voice. Rusty and Danny could be in there right now. Of _course _they wanted to move as fast as possible.

They ducked around the wall, past the side of the house and sped across the yard next to the basement window. There were no other windows at this side of the house. Unless someone was actually _in _the basement, they should be fine.

He knelt down in front of the window. Catch was easy enough. Sort that he could do in his sleep, but it creaked a little when he swung it open.

They froze for a long moment, waiting, listening. Nothing.

He glanced up at Bobby and nodded, and made to squeeze through the window, but Bobby grabbed his arm and shook his head.

Right.

Bobby wanted to go first. He sighed, but moved back and watched as Bobby dropped through the window and drew his gun instantly. He couldn't see into the basement, not really, but he could just see as Bobby was looking round, and a second later, Bobby waved him to come on down.

The window was a tight squeeze and he could feel his shoulders and legs protesting. Huh. He was getting too old for this. He thought about Rusty and Danny for a second. Oh, he would _never _be too old for this.

There was nothing in the basement. No sign that anyone had been down here for years. They stared towards the stairs and the door at the top.

Bobby edged forwards and his gun was still in his hand as he climbed the stairs, Saul a step behind. At the top, they paused. Listened. Waiting for any sound in the house, any suggestion that they weren't alone.

Nothing.

Saul was having to resist the urge to shout Rusty and Danny's names, to find out if they were _here. _They could be mere feet away right now.

After a long moment, Bobby carefully tried the doorhandle and pushed the door open.

A kitchen. A disused looking kitchen. Oh, this wasn't a good sign.

They moved through the house silently, checking every room, searching everywhere imagineable. And still there was nothing. No sign of Rusty and Danny. No sign of Patrick. So far, this was looking like another unbearable dead end.

They headed upstairs. Two bedrooms and a bathroom and still no sign of another human being.

They searched the first bedroom from top to bottom, looking for any kind of clue, any kind of suggestion as to where Patrick might have gone.

"There has to be something," he whispered, more to himself than to Bobby.

"We'll find something," Bobby promised.

They stepped into the next bedroom.

Saul froze.

_No. _

Oh, God, no.

There was a VHS tape lying on the middle of the bed. There was a letter on top, addressed to him.

"Fuck," Bobby said softly.

Patrick had seen them coming. Patrick had expected all this.

From downstairs, they heard the sound of the door being kicked open.

"New York Police Department," a voice bellowed. "Agent Caldwell? We know you're in here. Come out with your hands up."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Shorter chapter again this week and next week. Which really makes this story the opposite from all my other ones. **

**A/N 2: I'm sick. *sulk*  
**

* * *

Bobby swore with calm urgency and sprinted to the other side of the room, pressed flat against the wall and peeking out the window. "We're surrounded," he announced grimly. "They're outside too."

There were footsteps on the stairs. No chance that they'd be able to sneak down and back the way they'd came.

"Back of the house," he suggested quickly. "Maybe they've not got us completely covered." It was worth a try. At this stage, anything was worth a try.

"Please don't make this any more difficult than it already is, Agent Caldwell," a voice called from somewhere far too close. "Lay down your weapon and come out with your hands up."

Bobby shook his head at Saul. "We'd never get past them," he said simply. He gazed somewhere behind Saul and then quickly moved behind him, flinging open the wardrobe door. "Get inside and stay there," he said quickly. "Don't come out no matter what."

_No. _

He shook his head. "I'm not leaving you," he hissed. He could never do that, not in a million years.

"The boys are counting on you," Bobby said, a hint of anger in his voice. "What are they going to do if we both get arrested? They need you."

It struck him like a bullet to the chest, and still for a moment he just stood there, staring.

Bobby snatched the tape and the letter up off the bed and pushed them into Saul's hands, shoving him backwards into the wardrobe.

"Stay hidden," he ordered.

"I'll call Molly," Saul said quickly.

Bobby nodded jerkily. "Thanks."

The wardrobe door closed, and he heard the bedroom door open and an instant later there was shouting coming from the hallway.

"Freeze or we shoot!"

"On the ground! Now!"

"Hands behind your head!"

The sound of movement, and Saul didn't dare breathe.

After a second he heard them dragging Bobby to his feet and the footsteps were moving further away.

"Robert Caldwell, we're arresting you for conspiracy to commit murder and racketeering. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to..."

The voices faded into a low mumble.

Saul leaned against the back of the wardrobe and closed his eyes.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He stayed in the wardrobe - safe and sound - until the last hint of noise had died away and the house seemed empty. Was no good him getting caught now, after all.

Twenty minutes, he estimated. Twenty minutes and he stood with his fingernails digging sharply into his palms, trying to think of any way out of this, any way to get Bobby free. And he tried not to remember that he was the one who had called Bobby in the first place. Not helpful and besides. Bobby would never have forgiven him if he hadn't.

Twenty minutes, and that was time for Bobby to have been taken downtown. He'd be being booked and processed now. Thrown in some cell. And Saul wasn't sure quite how the FBI worked, but he figured that Bobby's superiors would have been told and he was certain there was going to be a whole heap of consequences.

Murder conspiracy and racketeering. His fists were clenched tightly. That came with a lot of jail time. He didn't know how he was going to tell Molly.

At last, he eased the wardrobe door open and crept out into the empty bedroom. The door into the hallway was open, and moving as silently as possible, he headed out and down the stairs. He paused on the landing. Dimly, he could hear voices. The front door. Probably they'd left a cop stationed there, for whatever reason. No chance that he could sneak through the hall and out the kitchen door without them seeing.

Damn.

He glanced at the window on the landing. Opened on to the front of the house. Maybe...

He eased it open gently, hoping against hope that it wouldn't creak. Then he grabbed an empty flower pot from the window sill and, quick as he could, threw it out of the window towards the bushes at the front of the house.

"Hey, what was that?"

"Better go check it out."

The voices faded and Saul was running downstairs, through the hall and into the kitchen. He stayed, pressed against the door and out of sight, until he heard them back at the front door again, bored and complaining, then he snuck out the back door and ran across the yard, scrambling over the back wall, convinced that someone was going to call after him any minute now.

They didn't.

He was safe.

Now he needed to find a phone.

He headed blindly a couple of blocks away, just to be sure, and he found a payphone beside a gas station.

It took him a couple of seconds to work up the courage to dial the number. Not the worst news Molly could hear, but she dreaded this too.

"Hello?" Her voice was cheerful.

"Molly," he began, and his voice was hoarse and pained and he cursed himself. "Bobby - "

She interrupted immediately, her voice sharp and tight. "Linus, go upstairs. Right now."

"He's alive and he's not hurt," Saul said quickly, needing her to know that before anything else.

Her breathing was ragged and shuddering. "But?"

"He's been arrested," Saul told her. "One of his contacts - Morris - gave us Patrick's new address, and when we went there the cops got there moments later. They were looking for Bobby. Charged him with conspiracy to commit murder and racketeering."

"A set-up." Her voice was shaking but the control was slowly returning. "I _know _Morris. We met at some FBI function a year back."

"Molly, I'm sorry," he said helplessly.

"It's not your fault, Saul," she said, full of strength and determination. "Just...find the boys. Don't worry about Bobby. I'll take care of him. Then we'll deal with that _bastard." _

Saul couldn't help but think that Patrick should be hoping that Saul got to him before Molly did.

Once the phone was hung up, he stared down at the envelope still clutched in his hand.

He didn't want to open it.

He really, really didn't want to open it.

He had to know.

With shaking hands, he tore it open and unfolded the letter.

_"Saul,_

_If you're reading this, congratulations on not being arrested yet. _

_I told you not to get anyone else involved, and here you are, getting the FBI to investigate me. Not exactly sporting, now, is it? I've got friends in very high places, you know. Even if he's managed to avoid being arrested, your friend is going to have a lot of explaining to do. He's not going to be in any sort of position to help you. And things can only get worse for him. No one likes a crooked cop in jail, believe me._

_You're not going to find me. I'm too smart for you and I'm going to make sure you regret crossing me for the rest of your life. _

_Remind me. Did you have one son or two?_

_Are you sure?_

_Enjoy the tape."_

The letter was unsigned. Not that it needed to be.

He supposed that Patrick wouldn't want to leave anything quite so threatening where the cops might find it. Though surely the tape was going to be incriminating enough...

Patrick hadn't expected Saul to get arrested. The realisation hit him hard. Patrick hadn't _wanted _Saul to get arrested, because if Saul was arrested, this game would be cut short. Patrick had faith in him, had trusted him to evade the cops. That set-up had been all about getting Bobby out of the way, and the fact that he might just have ruined Bobby's life was just icing on the cake.

(_No one likes a crooked cop in jail._)

He'd need to figure out a way to investigate without Bobby's help.

And that was all well and good, the practical and the pragmatic, and it took his mind away from the screaming.

_(Did you have one son or two?)_

The tape was burning his fingers.

What had Patrick done?


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Chapter 16, which means four months of regular updates. _I'm _impressed.**

* * *

It was ridiculous, but he was going to need to buy another VCR. He'd left the other one in the motel room yesterday and he didn't have time to go and try and argue with the staff that, even though he'd left it there when he checked out, he really needed it back.

He didn't have the time. (_Did he have one son or two?_) Right now, on this tape...he could be about to discover...he could be going to watch...

They were alive. They were both alive. He had to believe that. He _had _to.

Practicalities, and he stood in the shop and tried his best to cut through the sales pitch, and when the man told him that for just a hundred dollars more he could get a better picture, the ability to watch in slow motion, the opportunity to never miss a second of the action, he'd shuddered and given the guy the money. All that mattered was that he get the machine and get out of here.

Back at his apartment, and he only had the vaguest memory of the taxi ride, and his hands were steady as he set up the VCR player and pushed the tape in.

The screen flickered into life and Saul was thrown into a world of nightmares.

He barely noticed Patrick.

Danny.

_Danny standing there, still dressed only in a pair of sweatpants, and his hands were tied behind his back and his mouth was gagged and that wasn't the worst part._

_There were more bruises now, more blood and dirt smeared across his chest and face and it was obvious that he'd been beaten up often and recently, and that wasn't the worst part._

_There was a collar around Danny's neck. A choke chain and Patrick was holding the end of it casually, like he had every right to, like he had no intention of ever letting go. Controlling and dominating and possessing, and he pulled the chain a little tighter - just a little tighter - and Danny was struggling to breathe. And even that wasn't the worst part._

_The look in Danny's eyes. That was the worst part. The absolute hell of fear and anger, desolation and defeat. And Danny's face was tear-stained, like he'd been crying for hours._

Saul had never seen Danny cry before, but Danny had been crying in front of that monster.

And Danny was alone.

Saul wanted to scream.

_Patrick was talking._

_"Hi," he said in a low whisper. "I thought you might like to know how your boys are doing this morning. Are you missing them yet?"_

_He pulled on the chain and Danny stumbled forwards, not quite falling, glaring up at Patrick with unbridled hatred in his eyes._

_"You're probably wondering about the gag," Patrick went on. "Well, Danny here has just been shouting and screaming all night!" He giggled. "It was really getting quite distracting. And we don't want the neighbours complaining now, do we?" He punctuated his words by pulling the chain tight and watching Danny choke, desperately gasping for breath. "We have to be considerate, you know. We have to think of others."  
_  
Saul's fists were clenched and in his head he was grabbing Patrick by the throat, throwing him against the wall, getting him as far away from Danny as possible.

_Danny was snarling, spitting words of hate and anger and defiance, and they were all inaudible._

_"There's just no teaching him is there?" Patrick asked, shaking his head sadly. "I don't know how you put up with him. He won't listen to a word I say. And look at this!"_

_He held his hand up towards the camera. There was the unmistakable shape of a bite mark on his hand. Looked deep and painful.  
_  
Good.

_"I told him. If he's going to act like a dog, he can be treated like one," Patrick went on, and he pulled the chain tighter than ever, bringing Danny closer, making him stumble - forcing Danny down onto his knees at Patrick's feet._

_Patrick raised his foot and pressed it down onto the back of Danny's neck._

_"How does it feel? Seeing the son you're so proud of begging at my feet? Nothing more than my pet. Tell me how it feels Saul?"_

_His name, and Danny looked up at Patrick quickly, surprise on his face. Then he turned and faced the camera. And that was hell._

Saul was looking directly into Danny's eyes and in that moment it felt like Danny was looking back. And what he saw...hope. Hope that Saul was going to save them. Shame that Saul was seeing him like this. And guilt and apologies, for being used against Saul, for being hurt, for Rusty...

In that moment Saul longed to hold Danny tight and promise that nothing would ever hurt him again.

_"Oops," Patrick said, regretfully, looking down at Danny. "So now you know. This is all about Saul Bloom. He killed my son, you see."_

_There was nothing but disbelief in Danny's eyes and Patrick saw it and, quick as a flash, he kicked Danny in the mouth and Danny was spitting blood out, past the gag._

_"He killed my son," Patrick said again. "So now I'm taking it out on you. Everything you're going through...and your brother...that's all Saul's fault too. This is what's _fair_."_

_Danny made a noise of pained derision._

_Patrick's eyes were narrowed and he reached down, grabbed Danny's hair, pulled him half to his feet, and he whispered something in Danny's ear, some threat too low to be picked up by the camera._

_Danny shook his head frantically, and Patrick dropped him back to the floor, laughing._

_"You see?" he said, addressing the camera again. "He learns better like this."_

_The laughter faded. "You know, I've been thinking a lot about parenthood lately. All the small joys. All the things you'd never even think of. Story time and pictures on the refrigerator and checking for monsters under the bed. Watching them grow up. You know, one of my happiest memories is the first day that Benny came home from kindergarten with a picture. Hand and footprints. He was covered in paint, he'd skipped all over the sheet of paper. I swear, that thing hung over my desk for a year. All the guys thought I'd gone soft. I didn't care. He was my _kid."

_He leaned in close to the camera, conversational, conspiratorial. "I feel sorry for you, Saul. You didn't even meet your sons till they were teenagers, right? You've missed so much. That must _hurt."

_He looked down at Danny. "Maybe I'll help you out..."_

_The laughter continued until the TV went black._


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: It's snowing...**

**A/N2: Owing to computer problems, InSilva isn't able to get on the site at the moment, so she's not able to post or reply to PMs or reviews. Just so you know.**

* * *

Saul had never been this angry in his life. A cold, dark anger, monumental and all-consuming. It wasn't a question of _whether _he was going to kill Patrick, it was just a question of when. Patrick was a dead man walking.

He was going to rescue the boys. He was going to take them somewhere safe. Then he was going to show Patrick every last meaning of the word pain. He didn't have a plan, he didn't have a clue where the boys were, but that didn't matter. He was coming for them.

Danny...Danny was alive and whole. Saul had seen that. Hurt and trapped and humiliated, but _alive _and Saul clung to the one certainty and prayed that nothing worse was happening, prayed that Patrick was keeping his little games to what Saul could see.

_Rusty..._no. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. No, he had to believe that Rusty was alive. Had to believe that whatever Patrick hinted.. And surely, if Patrick had killed Rusty, he'd want Saul to know? He'd want Saul to feel that crushing devastation, that absolute grief. And if Danny had thought that Rusty was dead...Saul shivered. Danny _hadn't _thought that Rusty was dead. He could be absolutely sure of that. Wherever he was, whatever was happening to him, Rusty was alive.

He was going to get them back. It was only a matter of time.

He closed his eyes. He needed to think, needed to plan.

Patrick had known they were looking for him because of Bobby's contact, Morris. Either Morris himself, or someone else in the organised crimes unit had tipped Patrick off and had Bobby arrested. And that suggested that they must have _real _information about Patrick. Something that Saul could use.

Trouble was, if he went in all guns blazing, intimidating and demanding, screaming that he needed to know right now, the way he truly wanted to, not only would it not end well, it could throw Bobby into even more trouble. Whatever they thought Bobby was doing, they couldn't have much evidence. They thought other people were interested in Patrick...conspiracy looked that much more plausible.

Tempting as it might be to just track Morris down and hurt him till he spilled everything he knew, that wasn't an option. Not just for Bobby's sake - Bobby, after all, would understand the necessity. But someone had already tipped Patrick off once. Saul couldn't risk it happening again.

No, he had to find out everything he could and he had to do it without anyone even knowing he was looking.

Guiltily, he called Molly back. "It's me," he said, as soon as she answered. "You doing okay?"

"Good as I can be," she answered strongly. "I just got a call from Bobby. Seems as though the official theory is that he's been paid by the mob to track Patrick down and kill him."

Oh, that was...well, it was a good story, he supposed. Plausible. Except that anyone who'd ever met Bobby would _know _it was laughable. The idea of Bobby as some crooked fed who killed for money...he shook his head. "There won't be any evidence."

"Except that Bobby was looking for Patrick," she agreed. "That's what I need to explain away. Bobby's captain's been told...he doesn't believe it either. If I can just tie Patrick in to some official investigation..."

He bit his lip, feeling guiltier than ever. "Be careful," he said.

"I'm going to leave Linus with his godmother for a few days," she said, and it sounded like all decisions had already been made. "Whatever I do, I promise I'll keep the boys out of it."

He nodded, knowing she couldn't see.

"Saul?" she said hesitantly. "Have...have you heard anything?"

(_The tape and the dog chain and the fresh bruises and no Rusty and he was screaming_)

"Nothing...nothing helpful," he said and his voice was choked and remote. "I...need to find them soon, that's all."

"You will," she said.

Yeah. "I need to know where Morris works."

"He's a special liasion officer," Molly said promptly. "He works in Grosvenor Court, but he has contacts in every law enforcement unit in the tri-state area."

Right. So Morris _probably _didn't have any information himself. If Saul had to theorise - and right now, theories were all he had - Morris had asked a couple of questions from someone in the organised crimes division, they'd asked why he wanted to know, and when he told them, they'd set Bobby up for a fall. And that made him a bastard, but a useless bastard, for the moment. He'd need to go for the organised crimes division.

"Thanks, Molly," he said gratefully, and he hesitated. "Good luck."

"You too," she said at once. "When...when everything's done, bring the boys up for a visit, huh? We'll have a barbeque...I've not seen them in almost two years."

Yeah. When everything was done.

A half hour of phonecalls in which he was everything from the Commissioner's Special Representative on Office Management to the guy from the sandwich company, and he had the address and phone number for the organised crimes division.

(_"What you need to remember," he said, a hundred years ago, in a hotel room in Vegas. "Is that you should never underestimate what people are prepared to tell a friendly or authoritative voice on the phone. People can't check ID on the phone. And that means that they'll often take you at your word. You can be anything you need to be." _

_Sitting attentively, side by side on the bed, Danny was nodding and Rusty was looking thoughtful. _

_"But most things can't be done over the phone, right?" Rusty checked hesitantly. "And it would be difficult to really get close to someone that way. If you had to, I mean."_

_Saul smiled warmly at him. "Oh, yes," he agreed. "But sometimes, when you need information, it's the easiest way."_

_"And no one's going to remember a phonecall, right?" Danny added consideringly. "If we phone up to find out the name of the catering company, and then a week later there are two extra caterers...no one's going to connect those dots." _

_Saul's smile grew wider. "Exactly.")_

Of course, that was the easy part. You didn't just walk into a police station and ask if they'd mind showing you their files on informants. Didn't tend to go down well. He was going to do this, he needed ID that was beyond perfect.

He called the number for the main reception. "Oh, good afternoon," he said smoothly as the phone was answered. "My name is Derek Weiss. I'm calling from the Mayor's office. We're currently doing an efficiency report on the use of outside maintenance contractor's within the police department, and I was wondering if you could put me through to someone who might be able to answer a few questions?"

"I could put you through to the maintenance supervisor?" she said doubtfully. "I think that's who you'd need."

"That sounds perfect," he smiled. "Thank you."

There was a moment of unpleasant music, and then he was listening to a man who couldn't sound more bored if he'd tried. "Chuck Farrier, Maintenance, how can I help you?"

Saul launched into the same spiel. "Hello, Mr Farrier, I'm working for the mayor's office to put together an efficiency report on outside maintenance contractor's...I was wondering if you could tell me which company you use for emergency out of hours work?"

"Just a minute," Chuck said disinterestedly and there was a long moment of shuffling papers and grating filing cabinets. "Yeah, that'd be Hainey and Carr Ltd."

"I see," Saul nodded, scribbling the name down. "And, forgive me, do you have an address for them?"

"Yeah, 3012, North Dartmoor Street," Chuck said.

"Thank you very much, Mr Farrier, you've been most helpful," Saul said politely.

He hung up.

He had a plan.

* * *

He stood hidden outside Hainey and Carr's storefront for a long half hour, ignoring the little voice that was screaming inside him that every moment counted, that right now Patrick could, would be inflicting pain and torment and cruelty, and Saul should have stopped it by now. Sometimes it wasn't enough to do things fast, they had to be done right. Sometimes you only got one shot.

_("We should move _now," _Danny argued insistently, on his feet and outraged, and Rusty was nodding. "We've got as much as we need, we know the layout, we've got the alarm code...what's another day going to get us?"_

_"Sit down, Daniel," he said sharply, and he paused for a moment, because he understood the need for action, the need for revenge, and it wasn't like it sat well with him either. Might be their friend that Rawley had hurt, but Saul wasn't too good at looking away from injustice either. "Revenge jobs are always dangerous," he said at last. "It's personal. Makes you want to cut corners. Accept plans that are less than complete. Less than perfect." He looked at both of them carefully, and the defiance was fading. They were listening. "We take another day, get to the secretary, we can find out exactly where the blueprints are so we won't be going in blind. We can find out whether Rawley carries a gun. You know we want to know that."_

_"Yes," Rusty said instantly._

_Danny sighed. "I don't like having to wait," he admitted, his voice soft and pained with too many years of experience._

_"I know," Saul said gently. "Sometimes it's the hardest thing in the world.)_

It was a plain enough storefront. Busy company but not ostentatious. Certainly not wealthy. Safe to say their security wouldn't be anything special. And the men walking in and out...plain grey overalls. Easy enough to pick up anywhere. Didn't look like there was actually any kind of patch on them, which helped. They did all have ID badges though.

A casual brush past in the street and he had one too. As of today, he was Neil Grey.

Next he moved on to looking into the office, standing casually at the bus stop, looking through the window.

Simple enough set up. A desk, a phone, a ledger, a woman. The phone rang, the woman answered, she wrote something in the ledger then tore off the carbon copy and stacked it in the tray. As the workmen came in, she'd give them one of the papers from the tray. Work orders. And all the requests came in by phone.

Enough to work with.

He had to get her away from the desk for at least a few moments. Something that she absolutely wouldn't suspect.

With a quick movement he bent down and grabbed a piece of broken glass from the street. Then he clenched his fist and squeezed.

It hurt.

(_He wasn't going to scream and he wasn't going to shout and he wasn't going to do anything that would make Rusty pull away from him. He had to keep telling himself that, because right now the temptation was _enormous.

_"What were you thinking?" he demanded again, and his heart was still hammering against his chest._

_Rusty shrugged, stubborn and determined and right now very, very frustrating. "I knew how it was going to go," he assured Saul, like that was the point. "He wasn't going to lay a finger on me."_

_"You shouldn't put yourself in danger like that," Saul snapped before he could help himself. And yes, it could be argued that everything they did was dangerous, but not deliberate. Not that. _

_"I wasn't in danger," Rusty said sullenly, his eyes downcast. "And I kept him in the game, didn't I?" _

_"Yes, you did," he agreed and he sighed and leaned forwards and held Rusty's gaze fiercely. "Now you listen to me, Rusty Ryan. There are lines that you don't cross. That you don't _have _to cross. You are more important than any job and I don't want you to ever forget that." _

_Rusty looked at him and hesitantly reached out and put his hand on Saul's. "I didn't mean to scare you." _

_He grasped Rusty's hand for a brief moment. "I know.)_

It hurt but blood was oozing and it looked properly dramatic, and when he pressed his handkerchief to the wound it reddened up nicely.

He hurried in to the office and the woman looked up and he saw shock dawn in her eyes.

"Excuse me," he said in a voice that quavered. "I seem to have had a slight accident, I wonder if I might trouble you - "

" - sit down," she said at once, ushering him into the chair in front of the desk. "I think we've got a first aid kit in the back. Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"No, no, I don't think it's that bad," he said hastily. "I just need a bandage or something...?"

"I'll see what I can do," she said, and she ran panicked into the back office.

Saul grabbed the ledger with his clean hand and started writing as fast as he could.

Had to be at night. As much as he wanted to go in right now, there'd be too many people. No chance of privacy, too much chance he'd be caught.

There. A technician needed to be sent to the Moreland Street precinct at two in the morning in order to investigate a problem with the heating system in the organised crimes office. He added the maintenace supervisor's name and the name of his new ID and tore off the carbon copy.

And he was done. A way in that shouldn't attract any sort of attention.

"Are you feeling any better?" the woman asked anxiously as she came back into the room, a first aid kit clutched to her chest.

He smiled up at her. "Yes. Actually I am."

* * *

Back home and he had everything he needed and nothing to do until tonight.

Nothing he could do. And right now...Rusty and Danny right now were...

He had to be at his best. Had to be absolutely in control. And even though he hated it, even though it felt like he was turning his back on them, he went through to bed. He needed a few hours rest.

Sleep didn't come easy.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Monday again. I feel like I'm owed more weekend. **

* * *

_Interlude_

_

* * *

_

It was pitch black in the basement. Danny had no idea how much time had passed. Not since the latest camera session, the dog collar and chain, not since they were captured in the first place, not since Rusty...

He swallowed hard. He wasn't going to think of that. He started thinking about that he was going to start screaming again, going to start shouting and cursing, calling Patrick every name under the sun, _begging _and _pleading_ and no matter what Patrick might have said to the camera...to Saul...Patrick had enjoyed the display beyond measure. Danny wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. Not again. Not when he knew it wouldn't do any good.

Instead he'd sit here, in the dark, ignoring the aches and pains, ignoring the constant throbbing in his mouth, ignoring the searing agony in his feet, ignoring the white-hot burning in his wrists, ignoring the dread and the fear and the rage and the way it felt like his soul had been ripped in half. He'd ignore all that and he'd concentrate on sawing the cuffs against the pipe above his head, because with enough time, with enough effort, maybe, just maybe, he could get them out of here.

Saul. This whole thing was about Saul. Danny still found that difficult to take in.

At first, he'd assumed it was a case of mistaken identity. Standing in their living room, like he owned the place, Patrick had told them that this was about their father. _Their _father, and Danny's mind had immediately leapt to cons they'd pulled, lies they'd told, and it had felt like maybe they'd pretended to be rich brothers one time too often. But then Patrick had used their names, and he hadn't known what to think.

And God! That first time with the camera. Patrick had made them beg their 'Daddy' to save them. He imagined Saul watching that and shivered and it felt like no apology would ever be enough for putting Saul through this. Not like he didn't know how it felt to wait and watch and be helpless. Not like he didn't know how Saul felt about Rusty. (_Both of them. If he was being honest, both of them._)

Saul was looking for them. That was beyond all doubt. Saul was looking for them, and maybe Saul could even find them, but Patrick and his thugs had guns and they'd be expecting Saul and there was three of them and Danny couldn't see how that ended well.

He pulled at the cuffs with fresh strength, ignoring the further flash of agony.

He needed to get them out of here.

He carefully didn't even glance in the direction of the far corner of the basement.

No time for more tears.

* * *

Stupid. How could he have been so _stupid? _

Bobby sat on the narrow bunk in the cell and silently raged against himself. He'd heard the nervousness in Morris' voice. More than normal, and he should have known something wasn't right, he should have taken more care. But all he'd been able to think of was that damned tape and all he'd wanted was to get Danny and Rusty back home safe as fast as possible, and it was only by the most extreme good fortune that he hadn't succeeded in ruining all their chances. God, if Saul had been caught too...

He hadn't been. It had been a long, anxious wait, because Bobby couldn't be _certain _but when he'd finally got a chance to call Molly she'd managed to let him know that Saul was alright. Thankfully. And Bobby could only hope that Saul had a plan, that he'd managed to find out more, that he was going to take care of that bastard once and for all.

He'd managed to slip a name to Molly as well. The Westcott case. It was still open, dated back about thirteen years and it wasn't _completely _implausible that he might want to interview Patrick Knight in connection with it. Unlikely, but not completely implausible with a little judicious tampering with federal files.

He was hoping that Molly would leave it to someone else. Couldn't imagine that she was going to, and once upon a time he'd never have so much as suggested it, but they had Linus now. More than just themselves to think of. He didn't want his son growing up with his father in prison, let alone his father _and _mother.

God, this was a mess.

And all he could do right now was sit tight and play the arrogant fed, refusing to share with local law enforcement. Wasn't exactly helping him look innocent, but the last thing he wanted was to even suggest anything that might get back to Patrick.

His captain - Bruce - would be here tomorrow morning. And by that time he could mention the Westcott case, imply a little bit of police corruption - not like that was a lie - and hopefully, god willing, all the charges would just melt away. And no one would have to know that he really _was_ part of a conspiracy to kill Patrick Knight.

Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes for a moment. God, he wished he was home with Linus and Molly right now. And even more he wished that the boys were home safe.

He hoped that Saul had a plan.

He wondered how they were doing right now.

* * *

Molly gritted her teeth and waited impatiently as the two agents in the hallway discussed the Bulls' chances interminably. Some sort of office sweepstake, they both had ten dollars in, and Molly would be _more _than happy to fix it for them if they'd only move out of her way and let her get to Bobby's office.

Not being seen was important here. Yes, as far as anyone in this building was concerned, she was Bobby's charming, friendly, law-abiding wife, but in the circumstances, if she was caught going into Bobby's office, questions might just be asked. And that was _if _they recognised her. If they didn't, she might find herself looking down the wrong end of a gun before she knew it, and Bobby would never forgive himself if that happened.

Finally, the two gamblers stopped wasting taxpayers money and drifted off to actually do some work, and Molly seized her chance and darted across the hallway and into Bobbby's office.

Okay. The Westcott file. A few minutes rummaging in the depths of a filing cabinet and she had it. Looked like no one had touched it in years. Well, that wouldn't do.

Carefully she blew away the fine layer of dust and turned back a couple of pages, making sure it looked like it had been read through recently. And that was part of the problem, for the rest...

Took her half an hour of careful reading, but she found a suitable section. A note about the getaway driver and a bar fight, and a dead girl, and she wrote in a suggestion that a cop named Patrick might have been involved and a description that matched, near enough. Then she grabbed a post-it and wrote "Patrick Knight?" in Bobby's handwriting and stuck it on the file, just above her addition.

There. That should be enough to build a plausible alibi on. She carefully laid the file down on the neat pile of cases on Bobby's desk, unable to help glancing at the photo frame next to them. Her and Bobby and Linus, on the beach last summer, Linus in her arms, giggling delightedly at the giant sandcastle Bobby had built for them. She was smiling down at him, and Bobby was looking at both of them, like he'd wanted the moment to last forever.

She lifted her chin and turned away from the desk determinedly. This was going to be enough to set Bobby free.

* * *

It was getting harder to breathe, and he didn't know if it was just him panicking or if it really was getting harder to breathe.

He'd squirmed and struggled and twisted and he was trapped and he couldn't get free, and he didn't know how long it had been, and the tears were running down his face and he couldn't hope to stop them.

All he could hear was the sound of his own sobs.

He could have been here forever. Forgotten.

"_Danny_?" he whispered softly into the darkness, helpless and hopeless and yearning and alone. "_Danny...? Saul?_"

There was no answer.

He was crying and he couldn't stop.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: InSilva has a Harry Potter story that's been nominated for an award. It's called 'Catching Up', written under the name of InFabula and it's truly excellent. It can be found on this site and you can vote for it on **http:/deathlyhallowsawards dot blogspot dot com **Only with the 'dots' replaced with...well, dots. Please, read and vote **

* * *

His sleep had been restless and fitful but he _had _slept and he hadn't dreamed.

Physically, he felt better for it.

Inside, he felt like 'better' was impossible. He couldn't imagine how he was ever going to feel normal again.

Midnight. Still too early. Time for a shower, a shave, a sandwich. Time to phone Molly and listen with increasing fear as the phone continually rang out. Time to try and convince himself that Molly would be fine and that she'd make sure that Bobby was fine. Time to not think about what Rusty and Danny could be suffering right now.

Time to see the envelope waiting in his mailbox, thick and flat and ominous.

Oh, God.

He closed his eyes briefly. That hadn't been there when he'd gone to bed. And it was night - probably it hadn't been delivered by any regular means. Hand delivered. Hand delivered by Patrick or more likely Dirk or Mike. Dirk or Mike had been standing right outside his door and if he'd _known..._God.

No point in wasting time on what might have been. He picked up the envelope, and with the feeling of dread and terror and impotence that was becoming all-too-familiar, he carefully tore it open.

A large, folded over piece of paper and a short scrawled note.

_Thought you might like something to put on your refrigerator._

He swallowed hard, prepared himself, and unfolded the paper.

Footprints. Lots and lots of footprints. In blood, smeared and stumbling all over the sheet of paper.

_("He was covered in paint, he'd skipped all over the sheet of paper.")_

Danny. Had to be Danny. Saul was almost sure. Patrick had been saying how awful it was for Saul not to have seen the boys grow up and so he'd...he'd...

_Patrick crouched in front of Danny, knife in hand, the bare soles of Danny's feet cut to ribbons, and, laughing, Patrick hauled him to his feet and Danny's face was blank as he stood, walked, stumbled, fell, but his eyes were shrouded in pain._

No! This had to stop.

* * *

Hat pulled low down over his head and a pair of gloves to ostensibly keep out the chill and he slouched up to the front desk, toolbox in hand.

"Got a call about the heating on the fourth floor," he said in a low, nasal voice.

The man behind the desk didn't even glance at him. "Haven't heard anything about it...you got any paperwork?"

"Here!" he said grumpily, shoving the work order across the desk. "Don't you guys ever talk to each other?"

A shrug. "Looks okay. Just need to call your office. Procedure."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, procedure, whatever."

The phone call was fortunately brief and he kept all the tension hidden. No reason why the plan shouldn't work. No reason at all, except nothing was going the way it should.

The phone was hung up and the man glanced up at him. "Right, go on up. You think it's going to take long?"

"Hope not, got two other jobs to get to," he said with a shake of his head. "It's the weather, you know?"

"Mmm." The man was looking down at the magazine he had hidden beneath the desk, and Saul beat a hasty retreat to the stairs.

* * *

The organised crime office was deserted, thankfully. No one working at this time of night. Didn't mean that he wasn't going to move quickly, he needed to get done and out of here before anyone came looking.

He dropped the toolbox in front of the radiator and scattered a couple of likely looking tools around the floor. Just in case anyone came in. Might be enough to let him bluff his way out of any awkwardness.

Filing cabinets and they were locked, but that wasn't going to stop him. Took him almost an hour to find the right one and with every passing second his fear and frustration were growing. This _had _to work out. It was practically his last hope.

Patrick Knight. At last. He pulled the file out and took it over to the nearest desk and started feverishly copying anything that looked even _close _to relevant.

The listed address was the house Bobby had been arrested in. _Fuck_. No one had lived there. How could they not know where he lived? How could they have an informant, a witness, and not know where he lived?

Wasn't much else. A phone number that Saul would bet was false, but he copied it down anyway. Details on the mob boss Patrick had put away. Vito Morrelli. He wrote it down faithfully. Might just come in handy. An address for Patrick's ex-wife, Sandra.

He stared for a long, hopeful moment.

_Maybe._

* * *

Another few hours of agonising frustration as he waited till morning.

This wasn't like with Ruby. He couldn't rely on Sandra Knight not being in complete agreement with her ex-husband, couldn't trust that she wouldn't call Patrick the moment she saw something suspicious. But equally, he couldn't let the chance go by, couldn't ignore the possibility that she might know something, some small clue that would let him get Rusty and Danny back, safe and sound.

His best hope was to go in with a good cover story, stay alert and get out the moment he saw the slightest hint of suspicion in her eyes.

He tried calling Molly another couple of times. Still no answer. He hoped she was alright, hoped Bobby was alright. Wished he could do something other than wait and wonder and worry.

At five past nine, he knocked smartly on Sandra Knight's front door, dressed in a respectable suit and holding a briefcase and an umbrella.

"Good morning Mrs Knight," he said politely as she answered. "Ma'am, believe me, I'm beyond sorry to disturb you. My name is Edward Sellars. I'm from the Education Department. I'm currently engaged in putting together a report on young people who have died as a result of drugs and I was wondering if you could spare me a half hour of your time."

She gazed at him blankly for a long moment and he could see the pain in her eyes. Pain that the years had done nothing to diminish. This was nothing that he wanted to disturb. But knowing _why _Patrick blamed him - oh, it could help.

"We're doing our best to ensure no more children are hurt," he added softly, persuasively, and it was the truth, after all, not in the way that she understood it, but it was true and that shone through.

"Okay," she agreed at last. "You can come in."

A moment later and he was sitting on an overstuffed floral sofa, politely refusing the cup of coffee.

"Do you think I'd be able to speak to your husband?" he asked innocently. "It would help with our research."

She stiffened. "I don't have anything to do with him anymore."

"I see," he said, his heart sinking. He'd been hoping that she could help. He'd been hoping that she'd send him straight to Patrick. "I'm sorry."

"You weren't to know," she said unwillingly. She hesitated. "If you want to know what killed my son? It was my husband."

He did his best to look shocked. "Excuse me?"

It seemed as though she wanted to talk. Seemed as though she was desperate to talk, she leaned forwards words spilling out of her.

"Benny looked up to his father from the day he was born. His father, the brave, heroic cop. And then, when Benny was ten, his father was arrested for murder. The _bastard," _she spat. "Benny never got over it. He started getting into fights at school. Trying to defend his precious father. Then his grades started slipping, he stopped doing his homework...by the time he was fifteen he'd stopped going altogether."

She was trembling with fury and memory and misery. "His father would send him letters every week and every week Benny would just shut himself up in his room for hours and then he'd vanish all night. Come home smelling of drink and cigarettes and God knows what."

She broke off, sobbing, and Saul silently passed her a handkerchief.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and he really, truly was. For more reasons than she knew.

"If Patrick hadn't gone to prison..." she said, and the tears were rolling silently down her cheeks. "Benny would be alive now. He'd be twenty two. Just graduating from college. I think about that every day."

He couldn't blame her.

"Do you have children?" she asked him suddenly.

"Yes," he said, swallowing hard. "Two."

"Just make sure you talk to them," she said. "Hug them and talk to them and let them know you love them every day because you don't know how long you get."

He didn't. He really, truly didn't. "Thank you for your time, Mrs Knight," he said gently. "I won't disturb you anymore. Perhaps we can do this another day when you're feeling better."

She nodded, wiping her eyes. "Yes, yes...I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for," he said quickly. And even now he had to ask. "I'm sorry. I don't suppose you happen to have an address for your ex-husband, do you? Or some way to contact him."

"He came by when he got out of prison," she said absently, her eyes far away. "He gave me his address. I tore it up. Brownsville, that's all I remember."

Brownsville. His heart skipped a beat. He'd narrowed it down to one square mile of the city. Somewhere, in that square mile, there was Rusty and Danny. And he was going to find them.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Happy Christmas!

* * *

While he was cooling his heels in the records department of city hall, he tried using the public phone to call Molly again. Still nothing. She should have been back by now, surely. Whatever she was planning, if it had worked, surely she'd have been home by now.

He tried not to imagine what would happen if she'd been caught planting evidence to clear Bobby's name.

(_Just how many friends was he going to see hurt because of him?)_

It was coming up for half ten now. The third day.

Seemed like forever since he'd got that note. _Do you know where your children are? _He still didn't. And every time he got the slightest clue, every time he seemed to be making progress, it was snatched away and now he hardly dared hope.

But he _had _to hope. After all, it was all he had.

A week. Rusty and Danny had been held captive by Patrick for a week.

In the wrong circumstances, a week could last forever. Saul thought it probably had.

A week of pain and misery and fear that they'd never have had to deal with if it wasn't for him. If he'd walked on by in that bar in Vegas two years ago, if he'd left them to their con and their celebration, if he'd swallowed his intrigue, ignored all his instincts that had sang to him that here were people worth knowing – if he'd never _met _them, then they wouldn't be hurting right now.

And yes, the idea of _not knowing them_, not having them in his lifewas almost unbearable, but it couldn't be anywhere near as bad as _this_.

The woman at the desk called him over, holding a bundle of papers, and he stood up and smiled, preparing to lie a lot.

* * *

When he got back home he was laden down with street plans and maps, thoughts and ideas. One neighbourhood. Still a herculean task, but maybe, maybe...

Brownsville. And a house. Meant he could score off the apartment buildings anyway, and his mind was racing with ways to narrow it down further as he fumbled with the key in the lock and pushed the door open.

The phone was ringing.

He dropped everything that he was holding and hurried over.

Could be Molly, calling to tell him about Bobby. Could be one of the countless contacts he and Bobby had tapped, calling to give him some information. Could be -

"Hello, Saul."

Patrick's voice.

"Patrick," he said and he wished his voice was calm and level. "Rusty and Danny - are they alright? Have you - "

" - uh uh, that would be telling, wouldn't it?" Patrick chided him, sounding amused. "Did you enjoy the tape?"

Bastard. Bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard. "What did you do to Rusty?" he demanded, because he couldn't talk about what Patrick had done to Danny while he'd watched. Not if he wanted to keep this civilised. And he _needed _to keep this civilised.

"Rusty?" Patrick said innocently. "Oh, he's around someplace. Maybe several places. Amazing what you can do with a hacksaw and a little effort, isn't it?" He giggled. "Well, a lot of effort, actually..."

With an effort, Saul held back the scream. No! Patrick was lying. Patrick _had _to be lying. He had to believe that.

"And Danny's little picture," Patrick added smoothly. "Did you get that?"

He couldn't speak. He actually couldn't speak and he couldn't stop the soft moan of misery from escaping.

"Oh, good," Patrick said cheerfully. "He was so proud of it. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him I was sending it straight to you. Though I did need to keep stopping him to make sure there was enough ink flowing...he screams very nicely, your son."

Danny. Oh, God, Danny. "Let them go," he begged Patrick helplessly. "Please. Let them both go."

"That's right, Saul," Patrick said softly. "It hurts to be hearing all this secondhand, doesn't it? To know that your son is in trouble and that you could save him if you were only _there. _Isn't it awful?"

Patrick was waiting for an answer. "Yes," he agreed, choked and truthful.

"Good," Patrick went on briskly. "Now. As fun as this is - and it is, believe me - " he added. " - this isn't actually a social call. I've been doing a lot of thinking about what you said. About what's fair. And you know? You're right. I've not been fair to you. But I'm going to make it up to you. I'm going to let you see your sons again. A family reunion. How does that sound?"

His heart leapt at the thought and it almost didn't matter that there was going to be a catch the size of Wyoming, almost didn't matter that he knew that Patrick's idea of what was fair was going to be unbearable. "Please," he managed. If Patrick let him know where the boys were, oh, it was a _chance _at least.

"I knew you'd say that." Patrick sounded pleased. "There's an abandoned warehouse on dock 15. Be there at one."

He would. He'd be there and he'd have a plan.

"Oh, and Saul?" Patrick added absently. "If you don't show up, or if you bring friends...well, it's your decision, obviously, but I'm not sure that your darling children will enjoy the consequences." He was still laughing to himself as he hung up.

Right. This was the best chance that he'd had. He knew where Rusty and Danny were going to be and he knew when, and the only problem was that it was obviously a trap.

More than that he knew that they'd _both _be there. Patrick had spoken about both of them and that was the best news he'd had all week.

Rusty was alive. Oh, thank God, thank God, thank God.

Difficult to be certain exactly what Patrick had planned. He wanted them all in one place for some reason. Maybe he wanted to see Saul beg in person. Maybe he wanted Rusty and Danny to see _him_, blame him.

Maybe...maybe Patrick was planning on killing the boys in front of him.

That was the most likely explanation. Patrick had had enough of this _game _and he was going to kill the boys and make Saul watch. He closed his eyes, shivering. He wasn't going to watch them die. He couldn't.

He had to consider calling the cops in. Ran contrary to all his instincts, but there was one of him and three of them, and they had the hostages and the upper hand.

But the cops had arrested Bobby on Patrick's word. No way he could count on them not telling Patrick if he went to them for help.

Other people...there should be someone he could turn to. Help he could seek out. Not like he had a shortage of friends. Trouble was, they were scattered all over the country and in the ninety minutes he had, they weren't going to be able to get here. And locally...Marcus and Finnegan were out of town, Joe was probably too old for this. Bobby was still in jail.

He was on his own.

Almost on his own.

He dialled a number. "Jacques? It's me. I need a gun."

Get there early. Surprise them. Kill Patrick before this went any further.

It was the best plan he had.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Okay *embarrassed cough* For the first time since I started this little project I am not any number of chapters ahead right now. This is as much of this story as I currently have written. Which means it is _possible_ that there won't be a chapter next Monday. I will try my best but we'll need to wait and see. Just to warn you.**

**A/N2: Happy New Year...in a few days.  
**

* * *

Saul looked across the dock at the warehouse. It looked like all the other ones round about. Dark and squat and ramshackle. Only somehow it _felt _different. Somehow it felt ominous. Somehow it felt final. Like fate.

Patrick was holding all the cards here. Two Aces and the element of surprise. There was no way that he hadn't thought ahead. He'd already be in there, waiting. Hell, he'd probably made that phone call from somewhere round here, with everything already in place.

He'd taken half an hour before he went round to Jacques for the gun. Put together the best disguise he could, tried like he never had before. A dark wig and a fake beard and a heavy coat and he was pretty sure that Rusty and Danny wouldn't recognise him right now, let alone Patrick.

Wouldn't make much difference in the long run, but if they were looking out for him, even ten seconds of leaving them guessing could make all the difference.

He walked circumspectly around the warehouse, keeping his distance.

No sign of life.

No sign of _anything_.

Suppose they weren't in there? He wouldn't put it past Patrick to just set this whole thing up in order to mess with his head some more. Giving him hope only to be busy crushing it elsewhere. This could all be a massive shell game, he'd waste his time staking out this godforsaken warehouse and, God, maybe when he finally gave up here, maybe he'd get home, open the door and Rusty and Danny would be there, left lying cold on his kitchen floor, eyes fixed and staring.

He could _see _it.

He bit his lip. Then again, wasn't impossible that there could be a whole lot of cops waiting in there, just like in the house. He imagined himself behind bars for whatever crime Patrick had seen fit to fit him up for, and Patrick smuggling his little messages inside the prison. True poetic justice. Himself in Patrick's place, locked up and far away and without even the slightest _chance _of being able to help the boys.

No. No, Patrick wouldn't be able to see his reactions if that were the case. And _that _was what Patrick wanted. That had to be what all this was about; Patrick wanting to know that he was suffering. And he was.

He took a deep breath.

This was all going to be over soon. Somehow – and he couldn't quite see how, but _some_how – he was going to go in there and get his boys back.

Three entrances. The front door and two side doors. The side door on the east seemed like the best shot. Looked like it hadn't been opened for a while, and the long wall of packing crates along the eastern edge of the warehouse offered him some kind of cover as he sidled towards it.

A thick chain and a forbidding padlock and he made short work of them and he pressed his ear against the door and listened.

No sounds.

He took the chance and opened the door and slid silently inside.

Seemed to be an entirely empty room. Wasn't that large – the main warehouse floor must be someplace else. There were three other doors in the room, one on each wall. He listened at each in turn.

No noises coming from either side door, but the one directly opposite the entrance...he could hear two voices. Muffled, he couldn't make out any of the words, but wishful thinking told him one of them was Patrick.

He walked through that door, it was going to end badly. He had to come up with a way of bringing them through here.

Hardly daring to breathe, he checked the other rooms. No sign of any people, but there was a pile of boxes and a pulley system in one room, the ropes seeming to go all round the building.

The controls were in the other room.

He could make that work.

A desperate few moments work, stacking boxes, and then he was in the other room, hitting the switch on the pulley system on and off.

A brief whirring noise and then an almighty crash as the hook smashed into the boxes in the next-room-but-one, knocking them all to the ground.

He held his breath for a long, agonising moment, and then:

"What the fuck was that?"

"Let's check it out." And that was _definitely _Patrick's voice, and an instant later Saul heard the door open, heard them step through, heard them walk towards the other room.

He stepped through the door quickly and his gun was pointed at Patrick and Dirk's backs.

"Don't move," he told them levelly. "Put your hands up."

Patrick complied, but turned round slowly, and he was smiling, genuine delight shining in his eyes. "Well, well, well. Saul Bloom, as I live and breath."

"You won't be doing either for long," Saul snarled.

"Oh?" Patrick giggled. "You really think so? I'm sure there's a question that you're just _dying _to ask right now. You really want to kill me before you have an answer?" He pursed his lips solemnly. "I guess they were right. I guess you're really _not _their father."

"_Where are they?" _he demanded, his voice rough and spiked with all the pent-up fury and frustration of the past few days and he refused to listen to Patrick's words, even if he _wasn't _really their father, even if they wouldn't be hurt if it wasn't for him.

Patrick cocked his head to one side, the smile spreading wider. "I'm not sure you really want to know."

"Uh, boss..." Dirk began uncertainly, but Saul paid him not attention.

"_Where are they?" _he said again, and he took careful aim and the gun jerked in his hands, almost hurting, and the bullet splintered the wooden floorboards at Patrick's feet.

Patrick jumped and took an involuntary step back, licking his lips and the smile had faded just a little.

"Let's not be hasty here, Saul. You want your boys back, don't you?"

"Start talking," Saul told him harshly. "Take me to them right now and I'll let you walk away from here with your life."

He thought maybe that was a lie.

Patrick looked like he was considering it.

He didn't hear the door open. He only got the smallest glimpse of Mike out of the corner of his eye, and he tried to duck away, tried to put his hand up to save himself, and the butt of the gun crashed against the side of his head with all the force of a jackhammer, and the last thing he heard was Patrick's delighted laugh.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: New chapter! And there will definitely be one next Monday as well. Yay me.**

**A/N2: This fic was all InSilva's idea. Now she decides she doesn't like it. *mournful sigh***

* * *

He woke up with a start, his head spinning and groggy and he remembered Mike, remembered the gun crashing against his skull and he opened his eyes and Dirk was standing there against the far wall, laughing at him, and he wanted to spring to his feet, wanted to force Dirk to tell him everything, wanted to run off and find Rusty and Danny.

He couldn't.

Rope scratching against his wrists. Hard wood at his back. Tied to a chair.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could he have done this? He'd been so close and he'd forgotten about Mike and he'd _failed. _He'd let them down. He'd let his boys down.

"Hey! Boss!" Dirk yelled over his shoulder. "He's awake." He turned back to Saul. "Have a nice nap? Don't worry. We've been looking after your babies while you've been sleeping."

He glared his hatred at Dirk. "I want you to know that I'm going to kill you," he said, softly and sincerely and he was already pulling futilely at the knots round his wrists.

Dirk didn't look in the slightest bit intimidated.

A second later and the door behind him crashed open and he heard the sound of stumbling footsteps. He desperately craned his neck, trying to see, needing to see.

Rusty and Danny.

They were there and for a moment his heart leapt. They were _there _and they were alive and he was so blinded with the sunshine of his relief that he barely saw Patrick and Mike.

"Rusty. Danny," he said, his voice choked.

They didn't answer. They couldn't answer. And now he could see the gags and the handcuffs. Now he could see the layers of fresh bruises, trails of dried blood. They'd been hurt. Recently and often and he could see the lines of agony in their faces.

Danny nodded shortly at him and there was apology in his eyes, apology and worry and determination and reassurance, and Saul wished he could promise that everything was going to be alright.

Rusty didn't react. Rusty hadn't even looked up at him, his shoulders hunched, his eyes fixed on the ground and Danny was standing between Rusty and Patrick, his shoulder pressed against Rusty's back in a gesture of useless protection.

"So here we all are," Patrick said cheerfully. "A happy family reunion, just like I promised."

"Let them go," Saul said softly, tearing his eyes away from the boys with an effort. "Please, Patrick. You've got me now. You want to hurt someone, you can hurt me all you like."

"Yes," Patrick agreed. "I can." Without warning he backhanded Rusty across the face, sent him stumbling to the floor and, laughing, he marched forwards, his boot crashing into Rusty's side again and again.

"No!" Saul shouted, pleading and screaming, and Mike was holding Danny back, his fingers digging into Danny's shoulder like a vice.

After an eternity, Patrick stepped back and Rusty raised his head and met Saul's eyes for the first time.

Saul felt like screaming.

There was nothing in Rusty's eyes. Nothing at all.

"See," Patrick said gleefully as he reached down and grabbed Rusty's hair, hauling him back to his feet, and for the briefest of moments the pain was bleeding through Rusty's eyes. And that was almost preferable because a second later the blankness fell and Rusty looked like the walking dead. "I can hurt you. I _will_ hurt you."

He took a deep, shuddering breath. Forced himself to calm down. "What do you want, Patrick?"

Patrick pursed his lips. "I thought you might have had enough of the tapes. I thought you might enjoy a live show." He turned and nodded at Mike and Dirk and they grabbed Rusty and Danny and threw them against the far wall, holding them in place, and Patrick sauntered over slowly, inspecting Danny's bare chest and then, a second later, there was a cigarette lighter in his hand and he was holding it against Danny's stomach and Danny was stoic and silent and _hurting._

"Stop it!" Saul said harshly and, miracle of miracles, Patrick did.

When he turned round the smile was gone and he grabbed a chair and pulled it over, leaning forwards, rocking on the chair, inches from Saul's face, his arms folded over the chairback. "I've been thinking a lot about what's _fair_ lately. See, when I was in prison, I was thinking about justice. Vengeance, if you will. I had this plan, you see. I was going to drag you out of your bed and bring you to some deserted warehouse." He made a show of looking round slowly. "Kind of like this one, actually. I had the usual ideas...red hot fish hooks, rubber truncheons, rusty pliers...and that hurts a lot, you know." He turned his head and looked at Danny. "You know how much that hurts, don't you?"

Danny glared his hatred.

Patrick got lazily to his feet and walked over, and Saul bit his lip till he tasted blood, and Patrick's hand was on Danny's jaw, his fingers digging into the swollen and the painful until the tears sprang to Danny's eyes.

"Doesn't that hurt a lot?" Patrick asked solicitously. "Or would you rather I checked with Rusty instead."

Danny shook his head quickly.

"That's what I thought," Patrick smiled. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

A slow nod and shame in Danny's eyes.

Patrick laughed and walked back to his chair, slumping back down easily. "Slow and painful, Saul. That was the point. I wanted to see the look in your eyes when you died." He gave a shuddering sigh. "That was my plan. I was going to kill you and then I was going to go and get my wife back. Reconnect, you might say. And my son." The life fell out of his eyes. "I was going to see my son again."

Saul almost wanted to apologise. Almost.

"When he died..." Patrick took a deep breath. "He'd run away from home three months before. I had three months where I didn't hear _anything. _And then...they found his body in some run-down warehouse, did you know that?"

He said nothing. He pulled at the ropes, willing them to give, and he said nothing.

"_Did you know that, Saul?" _Patrick screamed, out of nowhere, and he shook his head.

"A broken down warehouse," Patrick went on, calm in the way the eye of a hurricane is calm. "Just like this one." He giggled. "Isn't that funny?"

No. No, it wasn't funny. He didn't like Patrick drawing these connections.

"When they found his body they figured he'd been dead for at least six weeks. Can you imagine that? He died alone and no one knew. He still had the fucking needle sticking out of his arm. He was only eighteen. You knew that, didn't you?"

He nodded unwillingly. "Yes."

"Just eighteen," Patrick went on, standing up again and letting the chair clatter to the ground. "Barely old enough to shave. Just like your little boy here." He traced a finger ever so slowly down Rusty's cheek and Rusty flinched away.

Saul felt his heart breaking. He didn't know what was worse; the look of miserable, helpless fury in Danny's eyes or the utter blankness in Rusty's.

"Don't touch him," he said, and the best he could say was that it was an authoritative plea.

Patrick didn't seem to hear him but he wheeled round to face Saul anyway. "If I'd never been in prison, Benny would be alive right now. You sent me to prison. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

That wasn't true. This wasn't his fault. He had to remember that. "You killed - "

" - _no! _No!" Patrick came towards him, pointing his finger. "Don't blame me. Don't you fucking put this on me. You set me up. You sent me to prison. I had to wait helplessly for every little scrap of news about my son...I had to wait to hear he was _dead_ and it was because of _you._ You killed him. You ruined my life and you killed my son. Did you really think there wouldn't be consequences?"

Somehow his gun was in Patrick's hand and it was pointing at Saul's face.

He braced himself and if Patrick was going to shoot someone it should be him. It _had _to be him, and he could hear the muffled pleas and protests, and he didn't dare look up. He couldn't look at them. He only wished that afterwards Patrick would let them go.

"Oh, no." Patrick giggled. "It's not going to be that easy."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: I still don't know how long this story is.**

* * *

The gun vanished again and it was as if Patrick's fury had melted into hideous joy.

"I told you," he went on, beaming, "I've been thinking a lot about what's fair. I spent eight years living in terror, worrying every day about what was happening to my son. Every day Benny had my full attention. So, you see, despite my best efforts, our situations don't compare. Do you get what I mean?"

No. No, he didn't and his confusion must have shown.

Patrick sighed heavily. "You have two sons," he explained slowly. "Your attention is divided. And that's not fair to anyone, don't you see? I mean, apart from anything else, how do I know that you're not playing favourites? How do I know that every time you see Rusty hurting you're not secretly thinking...'_Well at least it's not Danny._'"

Saul shuddered at the _thought._

Patrick's eyes were narrowed. "Or the other way round. But you see my predicament?"

"Just let both of them go," he begged hoarsely.

"That's not going to happen," Patrick told him, almost gently.

"What happened to Benny was wrong," he tried, "But it was nothing to do with Rusty and Danny. It was an accident."

"There are no accidents," Patrick said immediately. He turned and gestured towards Mike and Dirk and a moment later Rusty and Danny were dragged forwards, forced to the ground at Saul's feet. "So," Patrick began conversationally. "Here's the deal. One of your boys has to come with me and continue this game of ours. The other gets to stay with you." He giggled. "And it all comes down to one simple question!"

Saul wasn't looking at Patrick anymore. Oh, he should be, he knew he should be. It was...easier...and it was safer, but he couldn't.

He could only look at Rusty and Danny.

He could see the pain Danny couldn't hide, but more than that he could see the strength and the determination and the forgiveness.

He could see the blankness in Rusty's eyes, the retreat from the world (_And what had _happened?_) _but he could also see the awareness. Hell, as Rusty looked at Saul, there was even something that might have been described as a smile.

"I'm sorry," he whispered without even meaning to. "I'm _sorry._"

"Who do you love more?" Patrick demanded jubilantly.

He couldn't answer that. He could _never _answer that. How could anyone ever make that sort of choice?

Danny caught his eye. Nodded minutely towards Rusty. _Pleaded._

"Uh uh," Patrick scolded, his fist coming down hard against the back of Danny's head. "No conferring."

"I'm not going to...I _can't,_" he said, meeting Patrick's eyes, and maybe that was the wrong thing to say, almost certainly the alternative was worse. But he couldn't.

"I thought you might say that," Patrick nodded knowingly. "So I came up with a way to help you. All the most difficult decisions are easier under pressure you know."

He held his hand out expectantly and with a grin, Dirk passed him a switchblade.

No!

"Come on, Saul, it's an easy question," Patrick said, watching his face gleefully. "Maybe you don't like to play favourites, but that doesn't mean you don't know. Who do you love more?"

He wasn't going to say anything. He wasn't going to say anything even when Patrick leaned over Danny and, with a flick of his wrist, waved the blade slowly in front of his face.

He didn't say anything even as Patrick slowly traced the blade down Danny's collarbone, even as the blood welled up in its wake.

He didn't say anything even as Danny gasped and clenched his jaw, even as Rusty was watching, soft noises of fury and comfort from beneath the gag.

He didn't say anything.

Inside he was screaming.

"Perhaps not," Patrick murmured, stepping back.

With a sudden lunge, he grabbed the neck of Rusty's t-shirt, pulling him up towards him.

Saul was looking straight in Rusty's eyes. He could see the terror Rusty was trying to contain, and he could see how far Rusty had been driven from himself, and he could see how _familiar _all this was.

This was what Rusty was used to. Right now, this was what Rusty was expecting.

Rusty looked so _young._

One swift movement and Patrick had slashed Rusty's t-shirt from the neck down, and he was tearing it off him and familiar hell was alive in Rusty's eyes.

"No!" A short, strangled, desperate cry. It took him a moment to realise what he'd done.

Patrick let go and Rusty fell to the floor.

There was a moment of silence and then Patrick's laughter rang through the warehouse.

"So easy!" he said, almost gasping for breath. "Oh, Saul, I _never _expected you to find it so easy to choose!"

Rusty was staring at him, absolute hurt on his face.

He didn't dare look at Danny.

"I didn't..." he protested.

"Oh, I think we all know you did," Patrick said swiftly. "So this is what you want? The baby of the family." He dropped an avuncular hand on Rusty's bare shoulder and Saul felt the fury flash across his face. Patrick smiled. "And now I know what will hurt you most."

"Get your hands off him," he snarled recklessly.

Patrick nodded at Mike and Mike stepped forwards and dragged Rusty to his feet. "For the moment," Patrick agreed. "After all, I need to think about Danny first."

The terror was cold and immediate. "You said...you said you'd let him stay with me."

"I did," Patrick agreed gently. "But did you really think I meant alive and well? That's not very imaginative of you, is it?"

He hadn't. Of course he hadn't. "_Please,_" he whispered.

"Oh, Saul," Patrick shook his head sympathetically. "You're being selfish. Think about this from Danny's point of view. Do you really think he wants to live with the knowledge that he's your unfavourite son? Do you really think he wants to live with the knowledge that you've both abandoned Rusty to me? Trust me, this is the kinder way."

Rusty was struggling wildly in Mike's arms. Thrashing and kicking...doing anything to get free. To get to Danny.

The knot beneath Saul's fingers remained solid and immoveable.

"Do you know what this is?" Patrick went on, holding up a hypodermic syringe.

Not specifically. But he could guess.

"They call it a snowball," Patrick told him. A noise of terror and outrage and Patrick glanced sideways curiously. "Apparently Rusty knows what that means." He eyed Saul disapprovingly. "You really should tell your sons to stay away from drugs you know."

"Rusty would _never,_" he spat at Patrick.

"Really?" Patrick raised his eyebrows. "Danny will. Anyway, this is a mix of heroin and cocaine. There's five hundred milligrams of heroin in here. That would be enough on its own. When you factor the cocaine in as well...it shouldn't take more than a few moments. And your Danny will die just like my Benny."

The knot wouldn't budge. The knot wouldn't budge and Rusty had moaned, soft and despairing, and his eyes were fixed on Danny's, saying goodbye and a thousand other things.

"Take Rusty out to the van," Patrick ordered Mike. "He doesn't need to see this."

Mike dragged Rusty away, through the door, struggling and protesting and begging and pleading and staring at Danny like he was committing every detail to memory and Saul didn't have to look at Danny to know the look in Danny's eyes, the promises and the farewells, and the apologies and grief for what Rusty was going to be facing alone.

Rusty was going to be tortured and Danny was going to die and Saul was going to _watch_ and he'd taken the best thing in his life and torn it down.

At the very last second, Rusty's eyes flickered to Saul's briefly.

Ninety-nine layers of hell and a forgiveness he didn't deserve.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Particularly short chapter again. Sorry 'bout that.**

* * *

"And now we can finish this uninterrupted," Patrick said cheerfully. "Some things Rusty is probably too young to see, don't you think?"

"Just let Danny go," Saul begged. "You don't need to do this. Patrick, just let him go."

Patrick pursed his lips. "Let him go?" He held the syringe up and looked at it critically. "I suppose that's one way of describing it." He laughed at Saul's despairing look. "I told you. It's not going to be that easy."

"Now, boss?" Dirk asked, stepping forwards eagerly.

Waving a hand nonchalantly, Patrick retrieved his chair and sat back against the wall. "Go wild," he advised.

Dirk did.

After the first couple of punches Danny was on the floor, spitting blood, and Dirk didn't hesitate for a second. Punches and kicks raining down and Danny was helpless, Danny had no way to defend himself and Saul was watching and Saul couldn't stop it.

Patrick was watching Saul's face. Patrick didn't look away for a second, not even to watch as Danny was reduced to a bloody, unrecognisable mess. Too busy enjoying every last shred of agony that Saul couldn't hope to hide.

And he couldn't hide. Of course he couldn't. The tears were running down his face. With every other breath he was begging Patrick to stop this, to leave Danny alone, and he was telling Danny how sorry he was, that he'd never meant this, never, never.

He got a fingernail inside the knot. Felt it give a little. Pulled and hoped and prayed and Danny was looking at him, saying goodbye, and there was pain and fear and forgiveness and acceptance, but more than that there was a question. A demand. A plea.

_Find Rusty. Keep Rusty safe._

He would. He would and he would do more than that.

In the distance, sirens were ringing out.

"Enough," Patrick said, with an uneasy glance towards the door. "We really need to be getting back to Rusty. The son Saul _actually _loves." Saul wasn't quite able to suppress the moan of agony and Patrick laughed and handed the syringe to Dirk. "You know what to do."

Dirk grinned and stood beside Danny's unmoving form, removing the cap from the needle, kneeling down, uncuffing Danny and pulling Danny's arm towards him, and this was it, this was...

The knot gave. At long last, the knot gave, and Saul was on his feet, launching himself straight at Dirk, the only thought in his head, the only thought that mattered in the world, getting Dirk as far away from Danny as he could.

He caught Dirk in the midriff and they went flying backwards, Saul's hand desperately gripping Dirk's wrist, bending it back, forcing the syringe as far away from Danny as possible, and Dirk struck wildly with his other hand and they were fighting on the dusty warehouse floor and Saul was punching and punching with no intention of stopping and Dirk was gasping for breath beneath him, his eyes rolling up in his skull, his movements jerky and spasmodic.

"Don't move!" Patrick said, sounding frantic. "Get away from him."

Saul stood up slowly and half-turned, and Patrick was pointing a gun at his head.

The sirens were louder. Much louder. Police and they were coming closer.

He glanced down at Dirk.

The syringe was sticking into Dirk's thigh and Dirk's eyes were open and wide and staring and Dirk was very dead.

He'd done that. He hadn't meant to, but he'd done that.

"It's the cops," Mike yelled from outside. "Dirk, Boss, we have to go!"

The point of the gun swung round from him towards Danny. "Not the way I wanted it," Patrick said. "I wanted you to feel exactly what I felt. But I suppose this will have to do." He took careful aim.

"They'll hear a gunshot," Saul said with confidence he didn't feel. "They'll hear a gunshot and they'll find you here with a couple of dead bodies and a hypodermic with your fingerprints all over it. You really think that you can talk your way out of that?"

"We need to leave _now!"_ Mike called frantically.

Patrick swore and turned and ran.

For the briefest of seconds, Saul stared after him. He was running out to where Rusty was. A van, Patrick had said. Rusty was there. Rusty was there, thinking that Danny was dead, and Patrick was angry and frustrated and Patrick was going to take Rusty away and he was going to _hurt _him.

And there was nothing Saul could do to stop him.

A second later and he was on his knees beside Danny, desperately trying to put pressure on all the places where Danny was bleeding worst, pulling the gag away and throwing it as far as he could.

"Rusty! Rus'," Danny gasped and he was shaking so hard.

"Easy," Saul said softly, pulling his coat off hurriedly and gently wrapping it across Danny's shoulders, his hand resting momentarily against Danny's cheek, offering the only comfort he could. "Easy."


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: And this chapter actually has Danny in it. Which is unusual for this story thus far.**

* * *

"No!" Danny shook his head frantically, a bead of blood trailing from his mouth as he weakly tried to push Saul away. "You have to go...you have to save him."

"I will," Saul promised, pulling the coat tighter around Danny, checking the injuries as gently as he could, and there was more than enough to make him furious and heartsick, but he didn't think Danny was in any immediate danger. "I'll get Rusty back, I swear it, but we need to get you somewhere safe." Somewhere with a doctor.

"No!" Danny said again, stubbornly trying to sit up, and Saul could see the pain lancing through him, and he tried to put his weight on his right arm and it buckled under him and he just gritted his teeth and pretended it wasn't real. "You don't understand." He slipped back to the ground and wasn't quite able to suppress the gasp of agony.

"Daniel, you need to stay still," Saul snapped, and the fear and frustration left his tone harsher than he'd intended.

Danny blinked up at him foggily. "Rus' is who's important."

Oh, God. He took a deep shuddering breath, and he wanted to say that they were _both _important, that he was sorry, that he hadn't thought...

Danny's eyes were closed.

Gritting his teeth, Saul shook him awake as gently as he could imagine. "I need to bring the car around," he told Danny carefully. "I'll be gone a few minutes...I swear I'm not leaving you. I'll be back."

"Just like Arnold," Danny said hazily, and Saul figured he was probably concussed.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked urgently, holding up his right hand.

Danny squinted at him dazedly. "Six...?" he hazarded.

Saul sighed and gripped Danny's hand briefly. "Try not to fall asleep," he said. "_Please_. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Danny nodded, and he was at least managing to focus, and Saul got to his feet and ran for the door.

Dimly he'd realised that the sirens had gone fast and faded to nothing. And certainly, when he looked around, there was no sign of any cops. No sign of Patrick. (_No sign of Rusty)_

Right. He needed to get Danny to the car and then he needed to get someplace safe and call a doctor. His apartment was out. Patrick knew where he lived, the chances were good that would be the first place he checked.

No, he needed somewhere else.

There was a payphone just next to the car and for the second time that day he found himself calling Jacques and asking for a favour, and every second while he was waiting for the phone to be picked up was agony. He'd left Danny, after all, left Danny alone, abandoned and bleeding on the cold floor, and it didn't matter that he was staring at the warehouse door, that he knew no one would get in or out without his knowledge, he still wasn't existing in any place where he was comfortable letting Danny out of his sight.

"Yes?" Jacques said, at long last.

"It's Saul," he said immediately. "Danny's hurt. I need to get him to a safehouse. You got somewhere?"

"Of course," Jacques answered, sounding concerned and he knew the boys too, of course, and just because he wouldn't get actively involved didn't mean he didn't care. "Where are you?"

"South. The docks," he said quickly.

"There is a place not far from you," Jacques offered after a second. "It will be empty at the moment. 3650 North and Dakota. The basement apartment. You know where I'm talking about?"

"Yes," he nodded, fast and grateful. "Thank you."

"Does Danny need a doctor?" Jacques checked.

"I was going to call Walt," Saul said. Soon as he was off the phone to Jacques.

"Walt Bowman? I'll take care of it," Jacques offered. "He'll meet you there."

"Thank you," he said again, relieved.

"How bad is Danny?" Jacques asked quietly

Saul closed his eyes and tried not to remember. "Bad enough."

Jacques hesitated. "And Rusty is..."

"I have to go," Saul interrupted. "Thanks, Jacques."

He hung up the phone. Oh, he knew that was stupid and unfair, but he couldn't make himself say the words. He should have saved both of them. He should never have let them get hurt in the first place.

It had been a good ten minutes since Patrick left. Right now, Rusty was in the back of that van, and Patrick was furious and frustrated and Saul thought that maybe, probably, Patrick wasn't going to wait to start the pain.

And Rusty had watched Danny prepare to die, and Saul seriously doubted that Patrick was going to tell him that Danny was still alive. No, right now, Rusty thought Danny was _dead _and it was little comfort that nothing else Patrick could - _would _- do to him would hurt that much.

Mechanically, he pulled the car round to the front of the warehouse and left the engine running.

Danny was still lying exactly where he'd left him and he supposed that was good, but Danny was lying so still and his eyes were closed and for a moment, just for a moment...

He dropped to his knees beside Danny and shook his shoulder, gently and firmly. "Danny, come on."

For a second, Danny opened his eyes and looked blearily at him, but then he turned his head and his eyes drifted shut again.

"Daniel. We need to move," he said emphatically. He could take most of Danny's weight, but he didn't think he could carry him. Not without risking injuring him further.

Rusty's torn t-shirt was on the ground where Patrick had thrown it, and somehow Saul's hand was resting on it and he could feel where the blood had soaked through.

Opening his eyes again, Danny looked at him and got slowly to his feet, Saul supporting him every inch of the way. "'m sorry, Saul," Danny gasped, as Saul carefully slid an arm under his shoulders, mostly-carrying him towards the door.

"It's okay," he promised soothingly, and the t-shirt was in his hand, his fingers grasping it tightly.

Danny carried on talking, his words broken and falling over each other. "I tried...I tried to get us out. I tried...the cuffs wouldn't come free and it _hurt_...and I begged him to let Rus' out and he just laughed...I'm sorry."

"It was not your fault, Daniel," Saul said fiercely. "None of this was your fault. I _know_ you tried and _I'm_ sorry. I should never have let you get hurt. Either of you."

"Would you trade, if you could?" Danny asked, glancing up at Saul, his eyes glazed and unreadable.

Saul blinked, not understanding. "What?"

Danny carried on looking at him. "If Patrick said he'd let Rusty go if you gave me back to him...would you trade?"

"No!" Saul said immediately, clutching him impossibly tighter, as if Patrick was there, threatening to take Danny away from him.

"Oh," Danny said, and he looked away and Saul couldn't tell what he was thinking.

He opened the car door and gently helped Danny inside, fastening his seatbelt carefully. "There you go," he said meaninglessly. "Just need a bit of a drive and then you can rest."

And then Saul could start figuring out how he was going to fix this mess.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Another Monday, another chapter. Possibly the last one for a few weeks, I'm afraid. Unsure. **

* * *

He drove an eccentric route to the address Jacques had given him. However much his instincts were screaming at him to get Danny lying down and with Walt, it was more important to make sure that they weren't being followed. More important to ensure that the safe house would remain safe.

But no matter how much he glanced in the rear view mirror, no matter how many unexpected turns he made, there was no sign of any pursuit.

He supposed that meant that all Patrick's attention was focused on Rusty now.

_(Oh, God.)_

He glanced sideways at Danny, slumped painfully in the passenger seat, and he resisted the urge to apologise again.

They finally arrived and the building was remarkably nondescript. Nothing to mark it out at all. He supposed that was the point. The basement apartment had its own entrance and he half carried, half dragged Danny down the stairs, and with every soft gasp, every stifled moan of pain, he felt his heart break all over again.

"Nearly there," he promised mindlessly, opening the lock as quickly as he could, praying no one saw them.

"Where's Rus'?" Danny asked, his voice slurred, his eyes glazed over. "Need him. It _hurts._"

"I know," he soothed. "I know." But he couldn't answer Danny's question.

It was a two bedroom apartment. Clean, impersonally furnished, and most certainly unlived in. He kicked the door to the nearest bedroom open and got Danny into the bed and under the covers with difficulty. Danny was still shivering. Still so _cold. _He was only dressed in those filthy sweatpants and Saul's coat and when Saul poured him a glass of water and held it to his mouth Danny drank it like he hadn't seen water for a week, and Saul wanted to go find Patrick and...

He bit his lip hard. Not possible right now. Not even close to possible right now.

His hand was on Danny's shoulder, and it was only partly about offering comfort and reassurance. Really, he still needed convincing that Danny was here and safe and with him.

"Danny?" he said gently. "Danny, I'm sorry. I need to know if you have any idea where Patrick took you."

Danny was looking at him, and it was like he was hearing the words but wasn't understanding.

He tried again. "Danny, if you remember anything...anything that will help me find Rusty."

Clarity in Danny's eyes. Danny's hand leaping up and gripping his wrist. "Rusty! Saul, we need to go. 's a house in north Brownsville. Beside the track. I don't know exactly where...Rusty...Patrick was in the back of the van with us. He kept...Rusty couldn't concentrate right. I don't know exactly where. Saul, I don't _know._"

Saul reacted to the misery in Danny's voice, his arms wrapped around Danny, as close as he could without hurting. "You did good, Danny. I'm going to get Rusty back for you. I swear it."

Just for a moment Danny looked like he believed every word.

There was a sharp knock at the door. He swore and the moment was gone and Danny blinked up at him, dazed and fearful.

Probably it was Walt. Jacques had said he'd send him over. He glanced down at Danny, helpless and hurting and vulnerable, and he grabbed the sharpest knife he could find from the kitchen before he went to answer the door.

He knew for a fact that he wouldn't hesitate to kill to defend Danny.

The knife was clutched tight in his hand as he glanced through the peephole. It _was _Walt, and Saul felt a surge of relief. "Come in," he said urgently, glancing over Walt's shoulder, needing to be absolutely certain that no one was following and no one could see.

"Jacques said Danny was hurt," Walt said, following him inside, glancing at the knife but not commenting. "What are we looking at?"

More than a week of torture. "He's been badly beaten, there are cuts on his feet, and chest, one of his teeth has been pulled out and his wrist is burnt," Saul explained, his voice hoarse and dull and unfeeling.

Walt was staring at him, and he could feel the horror and the anger there, and two years back Walt had told him that Rusty and Danny were too young to be living this life and Saul had told him that they deserved to live the way they wanted to and Saul had told him that he'd be there to watch their backs.

"God, Saul," Walt's voice was choked. "Are _you _alright?" The question was overflowing with concern and worry and compassion and knowledge, and Saul couldn't stand it.

"Yes, yes," he said impatiently. Physically.

"I'll take a look at your head after," Walt told him with calm worry. "Looks like you got hit pretty hard."

He'd practically forgotten...

"I take it Rusty's with Danny?" Walt asked, his hand on the bedroom door.

Of course. The natural assumption. It was _always _the natural assumption.

Saul mutely shook his head. Not quite able to speak.

(_He'd let Patrick take Rusty. He'd just stood and watched while Patrick took his son away and he hadn't done _anything...)

Walt blanched. "Saul...is he - "

" - no!" Saul said immediately. He went on with difficulty. "Patrick...the man who hurt Danny...has him."

"Right." Walt nodded briefly, his fists clenched, and yet when he walked into Danny's room he was all tranquility and comfort. "Hello, Danny. I've come to take a look at you. Is that alright?"

Danny raised his head sluggishly. "Walt?"

"That's right," Walt agreed briskly, dropping his bag down onto the bedside table. "Mind if I take a look?"

Danny nodded uncertainly.

Walt smiled encouragingly and very gently pulled the covers back. He whistled softly. "Congratulations, you're a mess. But you're going to be just fine."

Saul breathed a sigh of relief.

"Rusty..." Danny said urgently, looking round. "Where's Rusty?"

"Don't worry about that now," Walt said firmly and Saul could almost laugh at the impossibility. "We need to focus on getting you back on your feet."

Danny didn't listen. Obviously. "We have to get him out...the basement..._please_..." He struggled to sit up, leaning out of bed, and Walt grabbed him and pushed him back down.

"Danny, stay still," he said quickly. "You'll hurt yourself again."

"Lie down, Daniel," Saul added. "I promised you I'd look after Rusty. I meant it."

Danny subsided slightly, but Saul was sure it was only going to be a short reprieve.

Walt evidently thought so too. "I'm going to give you a shot now, Danny. Something for the pain."

"No," Danny said insistently, his eyes shooting wide open again. "No, I need to find Rus'. Don't drug me. _Please_. I don't want to leave him alone in the dark."

Walt's eyes flickered over to Saul, the hypodermic in his hand and Saul had to repress a shudder on seeing it.

The question was obvious in Walt's eyes.

Feeling like a traitor, Saul nodded his permission and a second later Danny was lying peacefully.

He turned away with an effort. Looking away from Danny with an effort. "I need to go, Walt. You'll take care of Danny, right?"

Walt glanced up, cloth in his hand. "I can, but – "

" – I'm going to get Rusty," he said softly. "I promised."

Brownsville. North and beneath the railway track. A house with a basement. It felt so _close._

"Saul..." Walt's eyes were troubled. "You can't handle this by yourself. You need to call someone. The police if you don't have anyone else."

Saul turned his head incredulously. "The police." The police wouldn't help him. Couldn't help him.

"_Someone,"_ Walt stressed.

Someone. And Saul wanted to find an army of someones but burning through him was the knowledge that Patrick had Rusty right now, was hurting Rusty right now, and Rusty was alone – in the dark – and Saul had promised Danny.

The phone rang suddenly, piercing and shrill.

He jumped and quickly stumbled out into the hall, unable to imagine who was phoning and he paused with his hand on the receiver, wondering if he should really be answering. Picking it up, he held it to his ear and said nothing.

"Saul?" Jacques voice.

"Jacques," Saul said, relieved. "I can't talk now, I'm in a hurry."

"I'll make it quick," Jacques promised. "I've got Bobby Caldwell downstairs. Says he's looking for you. Says it's urgent. Am I alright to tell him where you are?"

Bobby. And that was good news and Saul felt a surge of relief. "Yeah, tell him," he said, grimacing as he realised. Call someone, Walt had said, and Bobby was the best around and to have the best chance of finding Rusty, Saul would have to wait for him.

God, he didn't want to wait anymore. He wanted to go out there, to find Rusty to put an end to all of this.

He bit his lip. "Give him the address and tell him to get here as soon as possible," he requested. "I'll be here."


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Just over a week late. That's not too bad. And there definitely won't be a chapter next week as I will be on my honeymoon. Which is a good excuse, if you ask me.**

* * *

There were maps in the bookcase in the living room. Maps of the city, as detailed as he could wish, right alongside a few trashy novels, a Gideon's Bible and a stack of well thumbed magazines. Evidently Jacques had a good idea what a safe house needed.

He spread the maps out over the coffee table, feeling as guilty for not being with Danny as he was for not having run out into the night to find Rusty right that instant.

Waiting for Bobby was the smart move and it was the right move, but God, it didn't feel good.

Brownsville. South and beneath the railway. A house. With a basement. A basement where right now, Patrick had Rusty trapped and imprisoned, and right now Patrick was laying his hands on Rusty, hitting and hurting and doing God knows what.

His fists were clenched and even to his own ears his breathing sounded harsh and fast.

Brownsville. The house. He needed to find it.

He traced his finger along the map. Three streets it could be. Probably just under a hundred different possibilities.

There _had _to be a way of narrowing it down further, there just _had _to be.

Oh, it was a starting point, no doubt about that. He could go there right now, start asking questions, and maybe someone would have seen something strange, maybe someone would have noticed something unusual. Only...

A sharp knocking at the door.

Bobby. At least he hoped so.

Idly he noticed that the sun was setting as he opened the door. Patrick must have had Rusty for another two hours now. Mostly he was just caught up in being relieved to see Bobby again.

"You okay?" he asked immediately, as he stepped aside and let Bobby come in.

Bobby nodded. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Danny's safe in the other room. He's hurt but Walt's with him."

Didn't look like this was a surprise to Bobby. Jacques must have got him caught up as far as he could. And Saul supposed that explained the dread in Bobby's eyes. "Rusty...is he - "

" - Patrick still has him," Saul told him, unable to keep the guilt and self-loathing from his voice. He should have done something. There must have been something he could have done if he'd just tried a little harder... He took a deep breath. "A house in Brownsville. I don't have the street address, but Danny knew a little and I think I've got the neighbourhood. Maybe a hundred possibles."

Bobby grimaced. "We could go door-to-door."

"Yeah," Saul agreed bitterly. "And Patrick's been five steps ahead of us this whole time and there's no way he won't be watching his surroundings and the moment we start asking questions..."

The moment they started asking questions, Rusty was gone. Taken where they'd never find him.

The look on Bobby's face said he agreed. That he'd already thought of that. And Saul had been really hoping that there was another way, something he was missing.

He wanted Rusty safe.

"The cops are looking for Patrick," Bobby told him after a second. "They let me out a couple of hours ago. Molly faked up a reason for me to be looking for Patrick and it took a while but they were willing to accept that in the end. But that left them looking at why I was arrested in the _first _place and there's a massive investigation underway. Internal, mostly. They're looking for crooked cops, that's the first priority - "

" - but sooner or later they're going to get on to finding the people who are paying them off," Saul said. And that was Patrick.

That almost sounded good. The cops were looking for Patrick and if he was arrested he was neutralised. Only - "What about Rusty?"

Bobby sighed. "I don't know. No one's going to know they're walking into a hostage situation unless we tell them. And that's dangerous. For everyone, _especially_ Rusty."

"And if we tell them, they're going to want to know why," Saul added. And that would be difficult to explain and it would be time wasted and if it would _help _he'd confess to any crime they wanted. But it wouldn't help.

"Yeah," Bobby nodded. "If...if everything goes smoothly and they catch Patrick and find Rusty, then it should all work out. Rusty will need to answer a lot of questions, but he can deal with that."

Saul bit his lip. Right now, he wasn't so sure. He remembered the blankness in Rusty's eyes and he didn't know _what _Rusty could deal with.

"What?" Bobby said sharply and Saul cursed himself.

Thing was, Bobby needed to know. It was private, and normally he'd want to protect like it was a confidence, but it might make a difference to what they had to plan. "Rusty...was not doing so well," he said heavily at last.

"He's hurt bad?" Bobby asked.

Saul nodded, because he was, but it was more than that... "He looked...he had this look in his eyes." He didn't know how to explain.

"Blank," Bobby said quietly. "Like he's disappeared inside his head and there's no one looking back."

Saul nodded tightly and looked at him and didn't ask the question.

Bobby answered anyway. "First time I ever met them." He shook his head quickly. "In an ideal world we get Rusty back before the cops move in. That's the plan."

"When are they expecting you back?" Saul asked quickly.

"Not till tomorrow," Bobby told him. "Captain said to go get some rest." He smiled grimly. "Not exactly my priority right now."

Saul knew the feeling.

"What _happened_?" Bobby asked, staring at him with quiet desperation in his eyes.

Oh, God. He took a deep breath and when he spoke his words were forced and dispassionate. "I got a phone call from Patrick. He told me to meet him at the warehouse. He said Rusty and Danny would be there. I tried...I tried to sneak up on them. I was _stupid. _I forgot Mike and I got caught and when I woke up Patrick was there with Rusty and Danny."

He remembered that moment and shuddered.

"He said...he told me..." He remembered the delight in Patrick's eyes when he'd explained the choice and he just couldn't face up to that part. "He said he was going to kill Danny and take Rusty away to carry on hurting him."

Bobby's eyes narrowed and Saul _knew _that he knew that there was more to it. Thankfully, he didn't ask.

"Dirk's dead," Saul added woodenly.

A frozen moment and Bobby eyed him carefully. "You kill him?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "He was trying to kill Danny. He had a hypodermic of heroin and cocaine...enough to kill. I managed to get free. We fought. The needle wound up in his leg." He kept all the emotion out of his voice. He might be a murderer but even that was nothing he had time to deal with right now.

"Saul – " Bobby's eyes were dark and troubled and the concern and the compassion were evident and Saul couldn't stand to hear it.

"I wanted him dead, Bobby," Saul said harshly. "I'm glad he's dead."

Bobby nodded and looked away. "The body's still at the warehouse?"

"Yeah," he nodded, tiredly. "There'll be fingerprints and DNA." From all of them.

"Okay," Bobby said slowly. "We're going to need to do something about that. We got a couple of options. I can call it in, tell some story, make sure the cops see it as an overdose."

Too many ways that could go wrong. Too many chances for the cops to see something they shouldn't.

"Yeah," Bobby agreed, seeing the look on his face. "I think it's better if the body just disappears."

He nodded and swallowed hard and tried not to let himself think through what they were talking about. "Jacques will know someone. I'll give him a call."

"Right," Bobby sounded satisfied. "So what's next?"

"Finding Rusty," Saul said, like it was easy and obvious.

Bobby nodded. "The cops are looking right now. I'll call in to check on the investigation as often as I can." He hesitated. "I got the trace on the phone number from the post office back. It checks out to an answering service."

Not a street address, not somewhere Patrick would _be _but... "They'll have records."

"Exactly," Bobby agreed. "Figured we'd go check them out."

Then what were they still doing here? They had a clue and Rusty was out there, lost and hurting. "Let's go."

"I want to see Danny first," Bobby said quickly. "Just for a moment."

He couldn't argue with that. Couldn't argue with the pressing need and the fear.

Bobby walked through to the bedroom and Saul could hear his and Walt's muffled voices. He had to phone Jacques. And it was almost disturbing how calmly Jacques took the news.

"I know a guy," Jacques promised. "He's got experience in this area. He'll be able to dispose of the...inconvenience. No one'll ever find it."

Saul found it difficult to believe they were having this conversation. They were talking about getting rid of a body. A human being. A human being who'd beaten Danny, who'd tried to kill him, who'd... _Fuck. _"Thank you, Jacques," he said with difficulty.

"Anything else you need, Saul?" Jacques asked. "You just need to ask."

He thought for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. They might be here for a while. "Some clothes for Danny," he said at last. "Pyjamas at least." Might as well make Danny at least as comfortable as possible.

"I can do that," Jacques confirmed. "I will send someone over."

"Thanks," he said again.

After he hung up the phone, he looked at the door for a long time. He almost didn't want to go in. The guilt was almost overwhelming but the need was overpowering, and he was through the door before he knew it.

Danny was lying still, his eyes closed, and all the physical injuries had been cleaned and dressed and covered, and Walt was just finishing up stitching one of the cuts on his feet.

Bobby was standing at the head of the bed, looking down at Danny, his eyes closed off and unreadable.

"How is he doing?" Saul asked Walt hoarsely.

"For his condition he's in great condition," Walt said shortly, not looking up. "He'll be fine, just as long as he stays off his feet for a while and gets all the rest he needs. The tooth that's broken is infected. I've given him some antibiotics, but we're gonna need to call in a dentist at some point."

Saul nodded. "Thanks," he said quietly, and he stepped forwards hesitantly, looking down at Danny, trying to resist the urge to apologise all over again. "You'll stay with him, right Walt?"

"As long as I need to," Walt promised.

Briefly, he placed his hand on Danny's, his thumb tracing over Danny's knuckles tenderly.

He was going to get Rusty back. Or he was going to die trying.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: We now return you to your regularly scheduled update. Hopefully**

* * *

Bobby had an address for the answering service so it wasn't too hard to find the right street.

It wasn't too hard to find the right building either.

Not with the broken window and the yellow crime scene tape and the cops milling around.

Saul's heart sank.

No!

They were too late.

He didn't believe in coincidences. Not on this scale. Their latest lead and someone else had got here first. Someone else who was looking for Patrick.

Beside him, Bobby swore. "I should have come straight here," he said hoarsely. "Before I came to find you. I should have got the address first. Idiot, idiot, _idiot._"

Saul glanced at him, shaking his head. "There was no way you could have known," he disagreed. All Bobby had known was that he'd been out of the loop for a day and Saul wasn't answering his phone. If the situation had been reversed, he thought he'd have done the same thing. The priority was not walking into the middle of something, not disrupting someone else's plans.

"Right," Bobby said, and it wasn't agreement, not really. Rusty had just got further away from them, and Bobby was going to carry on blaming himself. But that wasn't what they had to focus on here.

"Who do you think did it?" Saul asked, looking at the damage. Who else was looking for Patrick? And what had they found out? They needed _answers _here; they were in a race and hadn't even known it.

"I'll find out," Bobby answered grimly, his badge already in his hand.

Saul grabbed his arm. "No," he said firmly.

Bobby looked at him.

"You said your superiors sent you away for the night, right?" he explained. "If this _is _about Patrick - "

Bobby snorted. Right. Like there was any doubt.

He continued. "If this _is _about Patrick, then your name crops up in the investigation when you're supposed to be off duty, questions are gonna be asked. You might wind up getting arrested all over again."

"_Might,"_ Bobby stressed. "It's an outside chance. And you think I care about that right now?"

"I think I need you," Saul argued. "I think _Rusty _needs you."

And that was unanswerable.

"What then?" Bobby demanded.

The old fashioned way. Crossed fingers and a lot of fast talking.

He took a couple of moments to look around. The cop in front of the broken window was the best prospect. He looked fresh-faced, naive eager and completely bored. Everything that Saul tended to look for in an informant.

Bobby nodded his agreement, and Saul knew he wasn't happy hanging back. Not a role that was really in his nature. But all it would take would be someone recognising a description and putting two and two together and they were sunk. No, this was his responsibility.

He strode up, projecting arrogant confidence and impatient efficiency. "Is Cooper here yet? What's the situation?"

The cop blinked at him for a second and opened his mouth, presumably planning on asking any one of a number of reasonable questions. Who he was, for example. Who he worked for. None of them particularly answerable.

He interrupted before the cop could get a word out. "Come on, we don't have all fucking day. You heard the OC mob are in trouble with the rat squad, right? Think this is a day to be keeping your head down, don't you? You _want _me to drop you in the shit with Cooper?"

"Uh, no?" the cop said, sounding a little like he was guessing.

"Good answer," Saul said with a smile, patting him on the shoulder. "What's your name, kid?"

The cop swelled with bemused pride. "Macintyre, sir. Officer Lewis Macintyre."

"Well, Officer Macintyre," Saul leaned forwards confidentially. "What can you tell me about the situation here?"

"We got a call from a neighbour about two hours ago," Macintyre told him. "She witnessed a bunch of armed men pulling a smash and grab job. They pulled a truck up to the front of the building, broke a window, marched inside, took all the filing cabinets out of here."

"Just the filing cabinets?" Saul checked quickly.

"Yeah," Macintyre nodded. "They left all the phones and stuff. Even left the petty cash box."

Not just a normal robbery then. Someone was looking for information. But if they were looking for Patrick's details, why take _all _the cabinets? As long as it would take to go searching; it would take at least as long to empty the office. That didn't make sense. Unless...

Thoughts whirling, but he had to focus on Macintyre right now. He nodded sharply, like the information was nothing more or less than he'd expected. "That fits the pattern," he mused, as if to himself.

"Pattern?" Macintyre asked eagerly.

Saul smiled at him indulgently. "Don't worry, kid. You'll get filled in in due course. Now, I don't suppose our helpful witness happened to give us any descriptions?"

"Nothing useful," Macintyre said, with an air of disappointment. "Between five and eight guys, all male, Italian American, local accents." He paused and looked at Saul conspiratorially. "I reckon it's the mob."

"Really?" Saul asked brightly.

Encouraged, Macintyre went on. "Yeah. I mean, it's not a normal burglary, right? So I guess that the owner must have been using his business as a cover and running something dodgy off the book for the mob. And then he double crosses them and so they take the information."

"Mmm." Saul pursed his lips. "You could be on to something there Macintyre. Excuse me a moment, will ya? I need to make a couple of calls."

He walked off as Macintyre beamed after him, and ostensibly he was heading towards the cop car, but the moment he was round the corner, he was sprinting back towards Bobby.

"What do we know?" Bobby hissed urgently as they turned and walked purposefully away from the answering service building. They might not be responsible, but lingering at the scene of a crime was rarely the smart move.

"They took all the files," he reported. "They were looking for information."

"Patrick's information?" Bobby frowned. "It has to be, doesn't it? But why take it all?"

They looked at each other for a long moment.

"They don't know who they're looking for?" Saul asked incredulously.

"They don't know the right fake name," Bobby corrected in dawning understanding. "They're going to have to dig through all the files, looking for...a mention of the post office maybe?"

That gave them some time, maybe. Time to find Rusty before anyone else did.

"How would they even have found out about the number?" he asked tersely.

"I asked the local cops to trace it," Bobby said regretfully. "They're leaking like a sieve. Someone must have talked."

He nodded. That made sense. And that only left the million dollar question. _Who were they?_ "The guy said they were armed and organised."

"Vito Morelli's men," Bobby suggested heavily.

Yeah. The most likely explanation. The mob boss that Patrick had informed on. The one who must hate Patrick _almost _as much as Saul did.

"If he gets there first - " he began, asking the question that he already knew the answer to.

" - he won't leave any witnesses," Bobby told him in a whisper.

Saul nodded. "Right. Right."

They'd kill Rusty. They'd kill Rusty and they were closer to finding him than he and Bobby were, and they didn't _have _another lead.

"Come on," Bobby said decisively. "We'll talk to Danny. Look over all the...evidence...that Patrick sent us. There's got to be something we're missing."

Yeah. There _had _to be.

Because the alternative was unthinkable.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Another short chapter, I'm afraid. Think next week will be longer. Also darker.**

**A/N: InSilva enjoys seeing me sulk. Little does she know, I am withholding photies.  
**

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The moment he opened the front door of the safe house, he was aware of the raised voices and his blood froze. Had Patrick somehow found them, found _Danny?_

He was running towards the noise, but Bobby was faster, pushing past him, gun in hand, and Saul knew he wouldn't hesitate.

The bedroom door flew open, and Danny stumbled forwards, dressed in sweatpants and an unbuttoned shirt, his hand gripping the doorframe, knuckles white like it was all that was keeping him on his feet.

Walt was a half step behind looking deeply unhappy. "Danny, you need to get back to bed right now."

"Saul!" Danny breathed, and the hope in his voice was almost unbearable, and he was looking past Saul, past Bobby, looking for someone who wasn't there.

"Danny, what are you doing up?" he said with a soft sigh, and he already knew the answer.

"Have you found him?" Danny demanded, his eyes now fixed on Saul's face, and even as Saul watched, Danny read the answer in a heartbeat, and the agony was immediate.

"Not yet," he said out loud. "But we will." It was a promise that he'd made far too often now, and with every passing moment he wondered why Danny still trusted him.

"Then let's go find him," Danny said, his voice clear and determined.

"You need to rest, Danny," Bobby cut in firmly. "You need to let yourself heal."

Danny's eyes were hard. "I _need _to find Rusty," he corrected sharply. "And I'm going to."

He took another step forwards, stifling a gasp of pain, and Saul glanced down and winced at the sight of the fresh blood showing through the bandages on Danny's feet.

Walt swore softly and laid a gentle hand on Danny's shoulder. "See, now you're undoing all my hard work," he chided. "If I have to do the same thing over again, I get bored. Let's get you back to bed, okay?"

Obvious that Walt was counting on common sense to prevail here.

Equally obvious that it wasn't going to.

"No!" Danny shrugged off the hand irritably and took another step forwards.

Saul managed to grab him before he hit the floor.

"Daniel, you need to _think_," he said sharply, looking him straight in the eyes as he helped him back to his feet. "You are not going to help Rusty by running out into the streets and getting yourself killed. You go back to bed and do what Walt says and I'll tell you what's happening and then you tell me everything you know, and we figure out a plan _together."_

For a moment, Danny hesitated, and Saul kept calm and crossed his fingers that it would be enough.

"Okay," Danny said at last. Seemed like the offer of information won through. And the promise of action. He hadn't been kidding; he trusted Danny's instincts more than plenty of men twice Danny's age. Hoping that Danny might come up with a plan wasn't just a way of keeping him quiet.

"You have got to teach me how to do that," Bobby whispered in his ear as they followed Danny and Walt through to the bedroom.

Saul smiled in spite of himself. "I imagine by the time you've got through Linus' teenage years you'll have got it down just fine," he murmured back.

Walt got Danny lying down and Saul pulled a chair over and sat beside the bed. It was still so difficult to look in Danny's eyes. Still so difficult not to be overwhelmed with guilt. Still so difficult not to remember that there'd been a moment and he hadn't chosen Danny.

"Okay," he said, his voice calm with an effort. "Here's what's going on."

He ran through the story as quickly as possible. Explaining how they'd narrowed down the area Rusty was being kept in, explaining that the cops and the mob were looking too, explaining that Patrick had been one step ahead all along, explaining that he'd _failed _and still trying to keep it as comforting as possible. He'd promised Danny the truth, but Danny needed as much hope as possible.

Danny nodded at the end, his eyes dark and closed off. "Saul?" he asked at last. "Patrick said he was..." Danny swallowed hard and the pillow was in his hands, held across his chest, shielding him. "...doing _this_...to hurt you."

He didn't want to talk to Danny about this. He really, truly didn't want to talk to Danny about this, but Danny had a right to know. "Yes," he said hoarsely. "I'm sorry, Danny."

"He said it was because his son died," Danny went on, not looking at him. "He said he blamed you because he was in prison and his son got fucked up."

Fucked up. That was one way of putting it. "Yes," he agreed hollowly, and he was thinking about Benny dying in a warehouse, and he was thinking about the syringe in Dirk's hand and the terror in Rusty's eyes.

"That's _bullshit," _Danny said fiercely, sitting up suddenly.

Saul stared at him.

"Stay still, Danny," Walt warned, still redressing Danny's feet.

"Kids aren't their parents," Danny said, anger in his eyes. "That kid made his own choices and it wasn't all about Patrick and it sure as _fuck _wasn't _anything_ about you. Just because someone grows up with a bad guy for a father doesn't mean they're going to..." His fists were clenched and there were a thousand endings to that sentence and very few of them were about Benny and Patrick.

Saul laid his hand on Danny's gently. "It's alright," he said softly.

Danny squeezed his hand tightly and Saul didn't think that had ever happened before. Not the way he and Danny worked. Didn't mean he was in a hurry to let go. Didn't mean he didn't want Danny to get every last scrap of comfort he could.

"It's not your fault, Saul," Danny said, and his voice was choked. "It's all him."

"We need to know everything that happened, Danny," Bobby said quietly. "So that we can figure out what to do next."

For a second Danny tried to pull his hand away and Saul held it just a little tighter, promising silently that there was nothing that Danny could say that would ever make a difference to the way he felt.

Danny looked up at him for a long moment.

Then he started to talk and Saul felt like screaming.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: InSilva says I am an unperson. She also wishes Patrick financial success.**

**A/N2: A week late, I know, but about twice as long as normal. And part of three part chapter kind of deal.**

**

* * *

**For a second Danny wasn't too clear what had woken him up. Just a sense that he'd heard something. Just a sense that something was wrong.

He lay absolutely still for a second, listening, and the noise came again.

Someone in the living room. Someone trying their hardest to be quiet.

He was on his feet in an instant, memories of nightmares Rusty had tried to hide flitting briefly through his mind. But that wasn't it, they weren't _there _anymore and it wasn't Rusty in the living room.

Someone had broken into their apartment. Someone was _looking _for them. He really wished he kept some sort of a weapon in his bedroom right about now.

He didn't even bother glancing towards his bedroom window. Even though he knew what was _likely _he couldn't be _certain _that Rusty had woken up too. And no way was he ever going to risk leaving Rusty behind. Grab Rusty then run. That was the plan.

The moment he opened his bedroom door, he was aware of Rusty doing the same thing next to him, and automatically he reached out, pushing Rusty towards the living room window and the chance of escape.

Vaguely, he noted that there were three intruders standing there, pointedly placing themselves between them and the front door, guns on open display, and some part of him was noting the lack of masks, was acknowledging his certainty that he'd never seen _any _of them before, but he was already running, they both were.

"I'm so sorry to intrude," one of them said, giggling, and some part of Danny's brain automatically labelled him as the leader. "You see, I have this little...project...going on, and your help would be invaluable."

Even as the leader was talking, his associates had ran forwards, grabbing Danny roughly, their hands heavy on his bare arms, and Danny was punching and kicking and struggling to get free, and all his focus was on Rusty.

"Run!" he shouted. Whatever this was about there was no point in both of them getting caught up in it. Free and Rusty would be able to come back for him, would be able to help him, and most of all would be _safe._

He already knew that would never happen.

Rusty spun back round instantly, snatching the coffee pot off the kitchen counter, swinging it as hard as he could at the larger of the two walking slabs of muscle that were holding Danny.

The coffee pot smashed. The muscle yelled in pain and let go of Danny, turning and backhanding Rusty viciously across the face.

Rusty stumbled backwards, falling into the coffee table amid wood splinters and broken glass, and the anger was alive in Danny now, because no one was supposed to hit Rusty, _no one, _and he tore his arm free and threw himself at the larger man, kicking and punching, doing his best to hurt, but there was two of them, and his arms were pinned behind his back, and he never even saw the first punch coming, and he might have seen the second punch but there was no way of avoiding it, and he was forced to his knees.

He could only watch as Rusty threw himself at the muscle all over again, and the fight was unwinnable right from the start.

But Rusty's hand was in the muscle's pocket. Just for a second, but it happened, and Danny did his best not to let the knowledge show on his face.

Seconds later and Rusty was forced down to the ground beside him, and the leader was standing in front of them, beaming.

"Have we all got that out of our systems?" he asked cheerfully. "Good." He held up a roll of twine. "My name is Patrick Knight. Have you ever heard of me?"

Danny raised an eyebrow. "Should we have?"

Rusty looked thoughtful. "Did you use to play bass for the Undercover Flamingos?"

The smile only widened. "Very nice, boys. You _are _good at this, aren't you? Oh, we're going to have lots of fun together, aren't we?"

This wasn't right. This _man _wasn't right, and Danny could sense Rusty's agreement beside him.

"Let's start by getting you restrained before you have any more bright ideas, huh?" Patrick went on happily.

It was at most a fragment of a second.

A fragment of a second of unhappy tension that Rusty covered almost immediately.

A fragment of a second of a look of concern and support before Danny managed to stare neutrally ahead of him.

Patrick stared sharply at them, his eyes flicking thoughtfully from one to the other. "Well. Isn't _that _interesting?"

He struggled, of course, but it was useless and Patrick had his arms tied behind his back almost immediately, his wrists bound together with countless loops of twine, pulled vicious tight and cutting off circulation, and all he could do was watch as Patrick did the same to Rusty.

"You don't like that, do you little boy?" Patrick crooned, his fingers trailing down the side of Rusty's face, and Rusty jerked his head away automatically. "Uh uh, you can't get away from me," Patrick chided.

"Stop that!" Danny snarled, and he knew it was useless but he just couldn't help himself.

Patrick stood up, eyeing Danny for a long long moment. "Stop what?" he asked with interest. "Stop this?" He bent over Rusty again, his fingers deliberately caressing Rusty's cheek and his eyes were fixed on Danny. "You really don't like me touching him, do you?"

_No._

"This your idea of fun?" Rusty asked, managing to sound bored and dismissive with an effort.

Quicker than Danny could follow, Patrick's hand was in Rusty's hair, fingers grasping and twisting, pulling Rusty's head over to the side, and there was a knife in his hand, a knife hovering over Rusty's exposed throat, and Danny was _screaming._

"Thought so," Patrick sounded pleased and he dropped Rusty to the floor without a second thought. "And yes. I _am _having fun."

Danny's eyes were fixed on Rusty's, frantically demanding answers and reassurance and gradually the terror was managed and controlled.

"Now, let's see..." Patrick mused, and then he was leaning over Danny, right up against him, far too close for comfort, and Danny was all too aware that he was only wearing a pair of sweatpants, and the knife was still in Patrick's hand and ever so delicately he stroked it across Danny's shoulderblades, first one, then the other, and Danny felt the blood well up in its wake before he even _felt _the pain, and Rusty was shouting and swearing.

"There we go," Patrick declared cheerfully, examining the bloodied knife for a long moment before vanishing into Danny's bedroom. When he came back the knife was nowhere to be seen.

Danny struggled to catch his breath, gritting his teeth against the pain, and his eyes were fixed on Rusty's, promising all the time that he was alright, that the pain wasn't too bad, that Rusty didn't need to worry.

"Now," Patrick went on. "I was going to gag you, but I really don't think there's any need for that now."

"Boss!" The taller muscle didn't sound too happy about this. "Someone hears them and we're going to be in lots of trouble."

"It's alright, Mike," Patrick explained, not taking his eyes off them. "You see, we're going to establish some _rules _first of all." He giggled. "Now. Danny. If you make a sound or try to run or do _anything _that I don't like, then me and Rusty are going to have a nice long playtime. I've got lots of toys. I don't know if Rusty would enjoy himself too much though. Do you understand?"

Danny nodded tightly and he let the hatred show in his face.

"And are you going to be a good boy?" Patrick pressed.

He nodded again.

"Good. And Rusty!" he went on, beaming. "If you step out of line then I'm going to have to punish Danny. I'm sure you don't actually _like _watching Danny bleed now, do you?" He paused for a long moment. _"Do you?" _he asked again, a hint of laughter in his voice and his fists were clenched.

"No," Rusty said in a reluctant whisper.

"So you're going to do whatever I say, aren't you?" Another pause. "_Aren't you?"_

"Yes," Rusty said shortly and Patrick was laughing with gleeful uninhibition.

Danny bit the inside of his mouth hard. What the fuck were they going to do? He couldn't risk Rusty. And Rusty wasn't going to risk him. And that meant defiance was impossible and escape became unthinkable, and what were they going to do?

"In a minute you're going to stand up and walk downstairs," Patrick told them. "I've got a van waiting downstairs that's going to take you to your new home. First of all though...Mike? Dirk?"

He raised his voice and the muscle immediately went to work destroying their apartment. Everything that wasn't already broken from the fight was picked up and smashed, torn or shattered.

It hurt to watch. This was their own place. Might just be things, but they were _their _things. And they'd worked hard to make this home.

"Not the TV," Rusty protested mildly as Dirk put his foot through it. "Aw, man, _and_ the video? You really had to?"

"You like home cinema?" Patrick beamed down at them. "That's good to know. I'm something of an afficianado myself. You're going to love what I have planned."

Somehow Danny doubted that.

Ten minutes of mindless destruction later and they were being shoved down the stairs, desperately looking for any kind of opportunity, any opening that would get them safe and away.

There was nothing.

Danny even found that a tiny part of him was hoping that one of the neighbours would open the door to see what was happening. Stupid hope and he was ashamed of himself for thinking it. Patrick and his men had guns and he had to figure they wouldn't be afraid to use them. He didn't wish that on anyone.

They were on their own.

He didn't even know what this was about.

Clear enough, Patrick knew who _they _were, but Danny would swear blind he'd never seen Patrick before in his life. And he knew without asking that Rusty didn't recognise him either, and that proved it. Patrick wasn't a mark, they hadn't robbed him and Danny didn't know _why he was doing this._

He couldn't stop thinking that money was the normal reason people got kidnapped, or the reason normal people got kidnapped. And okay, so they didn't have anyone willing to hand over vast sums of money to get them back, but maybe Patrick didn't know that. There'd been cons they'd pulled where they'd pretended to be rich. Maybe some wires had got crossed somewhere along the line. Maybe Patrick thought they were something they weren't. Maybe this was all just some huge miscommunication and when Patrick found out no one wanted them back...

Yeah. Somehow he didn't think that would go down too well.

The bottom of the stairs, and Mike shoved past him to open the door, and Danny contemplated tripping him so they could make a run for it, but when he glanced over Patrick's hand was tight on Rusty's shoulder and Patrick was smiling straight at him.

He stayed put. Did nothing. And they were marched outside towards the nondescript van and he looked automatically but the plates were obscured with mud, and God, it was cold.

"You could have let us get dressed first," Rusty commented casually to Patrick.

"I could have," Patrick agreed, his tone equally light. "I think he'll appreciate the effect more like this though."

Rusty glanced at him quickly, frowning and Danny shook his head minutely.

He had no clue. But there was someone else involved. Patrick's boss, maybe? Perhaps Patrick wasn't doing this for himself. Perhaps Patrick worked for someone they _did _know.

Speculation was getting him nowhere, and he was still desperately seeking that moment of opportunity, but the back doors were open and they were being dragged inside, and Danny caught Rusty's eye. Right. It was now or never, and never could be a very long time.

Patrick had disappeared round the front and _that _made this the best chance they were going to get. Mike and Dirk were standing inside the van, hauling them up. They'd lost the fight when it was fair, and now their hands were tied behind their backs and they _still _had to try.

Least they had the element of surprise.

He put his foot on the back of the van, leapt upwards, and his knee came smartly up between Dirk's legs, and Dirk folded up with a grunt of pain, and Rusty had barrelled into Mike's legs, knocking him backwards and off balance, and they didn't waste time on words or celebration, they jumped down the van and started running.

"Right now I'm pointing a gun at your best friend. You want him dead, keep going."

Patrick's voice. Loud and clear. And Danny had stopped before he'd even had time to consider calling the bluff, and Rusty had done the same, and then Mike was there, dragging them back, and Patrick was leaning against the back of the van like he didn't have a care in the world.

And maybe Danny was just a little pleased to see that Dirk was having trouble sitting up.

"You alright?" Patrick asked, looking down at him curiously.

"I'm going to kill that fucker," Dirk wheezed, stumbling to his feet, lumbering towards Danny.

He stood his ground. Not that Mike was giving him much of a choice. And Rusty was swearing and trying to push in front of Danny and Danny was struggling not to let him.

"Not now," Patrick said firmly. "You ride up front. Mike can drive." He giggled. "I think I'll sit with the boys in the back. We wouldn't want them getting bored now, would we?"

The back of the van was cold and dirty and Danny stood in the door for a second before a hand in the small of his back sent him sprawling to the ground, his head bouncing painfully off the metal floor. A second later Rusty landed on top of him and he reached backwards and squeezed Rusty's arm.

At least they were together.

The van rumbled off and they scrambled up, struggling to brace themselves against the wall, striving for some kind of balance. Patrick was sitting in the one seat, just in front of the cab, facing backwards so he could see them.

"And we're off," he remarked cheerfully, like this was some daytrip. "I do hate long journeys. Don't you hate long journeys?"

"Is this going to be a long journey?" Danny asked with interest. "Because I have a date tonight that I'd really like to get back for." He did, as it happened, but that wasn't the point. He didn't have to glance at Rusty to be aware of the conversation. Somewhere in Rusty's head there was a map and Rusty was taking note of every twist and turn the van made, lining them up perfectly. They might not know what was going on, but they'd at least know where they _were. _As long as he could keep Patrick focused on him, anyway.

"I get bored," Patrick confessed. "My son had the same problem when he was a kid. We used to play games to pass the time." He leaned forwards and smiled. "Do you want to play a game?"

His mouth was dry. What he _wanted _was for him and Rus' to be as far away from this man as possible. "Not really."

The smiled vanished. "I'll ask again. Do you want to play a game with me?"

There was only gonna be one right answer here. And Danny had a feeling that he wasn't going to enjoy the consequences if he said anything else. "Sure. You got a deck of cards? You want to untie my hands?"

"That's not the game I was thinking of," Patrick told him. "How about Eye Spy."

Danny didn't let anything show on his face. "Been a while since I played that one."

"I'm sure you can remember the rules," Patrick said with a giggle. "Both of you. It's no _fun _with just two."

"Sure," Rusty agreed, and Danny could hear the confusion and concern in his voice, because this was just _weird, _and he could only hope that Rusty was still managing to keep track of their progress.

"I'll start," Patrick said, leaning back. "I spy with my little eye something beginning with...s."

There was a long silence.

"You need to guess," Patrick chided them. "It's no _fun _if you don't guess."

Right. Okay. "Seat," he suggested with a shrug.

"Wrong!" Patrick announced gleefully, and faster than Danny could follow, he was on his feet, his fist raised, and an instant later Rusty's head was thrown back, blood dripping from his mouth.

"No!" Danny shouted, and his wrists were bleeding where he'd pulled against the twine.

"Oh, yes," Patrick corrected. "Rusty? Your guess."

Rusty shook his head mutely, his mouth a thin line.

Patrick sighed. "If you don't want to play I'm going to need to find some other way to occupy myself," he explained and Danny saw the punch coming but he couldn't hope to dodge it, and the fist buried itself in his stomach and he was bent over, gasping for breath, and the next punch caught him in the jaw and his head struck the side of the van.

"You get a double forfeit for not playing," Patrick explained when he managed to raise his head again. "It's better to be wrong than not try at all, Rusty. Daddy should have taught you that."

Rusty's eyes were alive with apologies and Danny was too busy glaring his hate at Patrick to acknowledge them.

"Your turn, Danny," Patrick said, settling back down in his seat as if nothing had happened. "S, remember?"

He nodded, understanding what would happen if he didn't play, and took a look round the van. "Sign?" he hazarded at last, looking over Patrick's head at a tattered no-smoking sticker.

"Good guess," Patrick said, twisting round to have a look. "But _wrong._"

This time it was a kick, the boot landing squarely in Rusty's ribs, and Patrick was looking Danny directly in the eyes the whole time, enjoying every second, and Danny choked on his hatred.

Rusty was doubled over, fighting not to throw up, and Patrick watched him for a long moment, giggling softly to himself. "I really am going to have to press you for an answer, Rusty," he scolded after a while. "Or else you're going to forfeit your turn again, and Danny won't _like _that."

"Sticker?" Rusty gasped, his eyes fixed on the same point on the wall and that had been what Danny was going to say next, and maybe there was _no _right answer.

"Still wrong," Patrick announced, and he grabbed Danny by the throat, hauling him up, and Danny scrabbled to get his footing, and he couldn't catch his breath, and Patrick's fingers were pressing into his throat, choking him, and he couldn't breathe and it burned and Patrick wasn't even _looking _at him, and Rusty was shouting, and he couldn't _breathe,_ and then Patrick slapped him hard in the face and he fell to the ground at Patrick's feet.

When he lifted his head, Patrick was already moving towards Rusty, ready for the next attack. "Shoe?" Danny blurted out desperately, needing to keep Patrick away from Rusty at any cost, because this game was getting worse and worse.

Patrick froze. "That's right," he said, his voice disappointed. He sat back down and smiled at them, as Danny retreated back beside Rusty, knowing he was sitting too close, but needing to comfort and be comforted. Besides. Wasn't like they were showing Patrick anything he didn't already know.

He risked a quick glance at Rusty. Bruises and scrapes and a split lip, but the anger was outweighing the fear and the pain, and he supposed that was good.

He realised that Rusty was staring at the knife wounds on his back. They were stinging like anything, but they felt pretty shallow. Nothing to worry about and he let the smile show in his eyes. Nothing to worry about. He was alright. He'd had worse than this before.

"Let's play again," Patrick said, his eyes fixed on them, and Danny felt like screaming.

Patrick wasn't even close to satisfied.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: So, so sorry that this chapter took so long. In my defense, it is incredibly long for this story. **

**A/N2: In other news InSilva is wonderful and patient and absolutely indispensible. And the fact that this chapter actually works at _all _is down to her.**

* * *

Took three more games of eye spy before they reached their destination.

Danny was only vaguely aware of the van pulling into the side. Everything hurt and he was fighting not to throw up, and all his attention was on the heel of Patrick's boot grinding steadily into his stomach, and on Rusty's eyes fearful and panicked and angry.

"We're here, boss," Dirk called from the front.

"Too bad," Patrick said, lifting his foot and Danny curled tightly, trying to escape from the pain. "I think Danny and Rusty were really starting to get the hang of this game." He giggled. "Still. There are lots more games we can play."

"You used to be a summer camp counsellor, didn't you?" Rusty asked, and the lightness barely hid the fury. "What happened...did the kids pick on you?"

Patrick just laughed and the van doors were flung wide and they were dragged roughly inside the house. And Danny was anxiously looking for clues, wanting to have some idea where they were, but then Dirk _accidentally _banged his head against the van door and the world faded to a kind of crimson blur.

Next thing he was really aware of, the twine was ripped off his wrists and he was being tied to a chair. He looked round anxiously; Rusty was in the chair beside him, just as trapped, and Mike was pointing a gun straight at Rusty's head.

Nonetheless, the relief on Rusty's face when he saw Danny looking at him was bright and fierce.

They were alright. They'd get through this. Just as soon as they knew what _this _was, they could start making plans.

He suddenly became aware that Patrick was at the other side of the room, talking. Not to _them. _There was a camera...

Home movies. He wasn't sure he liked this idea.

"But first of all, I thought you might like a little reunion!" Patrick told the camera, and then he grabbed it and swung it round, so it was pointing straight at them.

"Daniel, Robert, are you going to smile for the camera?" he asked, sounding almost normal.

Their names. Their _real _real names. How did this bastard know them? Who _was _he?

"Better idea," Rusty said, his voice light. "Why don't you fuck off and die?"

Danny gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to turn round and glare. He understood the need for defiance, shared it even, but taunting the madman...it wasn't a good idea.

He was almost surprised when Patrick didn't immediately retaliate. "Language," he scolded instead, with that disturbing little giggle. "What will Daddy say?"

_Daddy_? He kept the confusion as hidden as he could. But he didn't understand. Not in the slightest.

And there was the retaliation, because Patrick sprang forwards and Danny saw the blow coming but he couldn't avoid the crunch of pain, and Rusty screamed his name, and Danny thought that maybe his nose was broken.

Patrick was talking to the camera again and it hurt to hear how much they'd _failed. _"You can be proud of them you know. They put up a good fight. And they didn't cry or beg or whine. They're good boys. Tough. "But they are so _easy_ to control. All I have to do is threaten one of them, even a little, and the other will do _whatever I want_." Danny shuddered at the tone, at the thought, at the knowledge that Patrick really could control them that well. God, he'd been so _stupid. _They should've listened to Saul. Hell, he _had _listened to Saul, but he hadn't understood. "Whatever I want," Patrick said again, revelling in it for a moment before he turned back to face them. "Now. Is everyone ready to talk to Daddy?"

He glanced at Rusty for the briefest second of verification and Rusty didn't have any more idea than him what was going on here. Patrick was waiting for something and they didn't have any answers.

He tried to sound calm. Reasonable. "I don't know who you think you've kidnapped, but my father's dead. So unless you've got a ouija board handy..."

That damned giggle again and then Patrick was caressing his cheek and Danny was suffused with horror. "Darling boy. Do you think I didn't check out every last detail of your lives before I began? Your father died five years ago." He looked towards Rusty and Danny _hated _the gleam in his eyes. "And your father, well, your father wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire, now, would he?"

He said that like it was funny. He said that like it was _nothing. _And right at that moment, if he could just get free, Danny could have torn Patrick to pieces with his bare hands.

"He'd probably roast marshmallows," Rusty commented, and the grin was audible, but when he turned to face Danny his eyes said something else altogether. "You know what we should do when we get out of here?"

Still when. Not if. And he knew the answer and he knew the answer that Rusty was offering. "Not a good idea," he said at once, calming himself with Rusty's help. "We still haven't got the soot off the ceiling."

"Very good boys," Patrick said, and Danny despised the approval in his voice. He wasn't entitled to it. "Don't ever let them see you're scared." Inexplicably he glanced at the camera. "Oh, you can be proud. Now. Let's make this easy, shall we?" He pulled the knife out of nowhere, and then it was pressed against Rusty's face.

Danny could see Rusty's eyes and for a moment he could see the reflection of long ago and Rusty's Mom and then Rusty locked it all away.

"I believe I told you to beg," Patrick said to Danny, the smile wide.

Oh, he'd beg. Right now, if that was what it took, he'd beg. "_Please."_

Patrick giggled. "Oh, not _me. _Don't beg me. I mean, honestly. Do you think I'm going to listen?" He nodded towards the camera. "Beg your Daddy. Beg him not to leave you. Beg him to save you. Beg him to save your little brother. And make it convincing."

Danny had done all of that before, in his life. Dad had never listened.

He'd never stayed.

He hadn't helped Danny.

He didn't save Rusty.

And now Dad was dead.

He'd beg because Patrick asked him to. But he already knew no one ever listened.

He turned to face the camera, trying to mask his distaste and discomfort. "Dad, please don't leave us. Save us, please."

"Good. Very good," Patrick said, and he took the knife away from Rusty's face, and Danny breathed a sigh of relief, and for a second he hoped that might be an end to it. "Now your turn," Patrick said to Rusty, and then the knife was pressed against Danny's face, and he could feel the sting as it broke the skin and he was looking straight at Rusty, trying to project strength and reassurance, but Rusty was looking at Danny and the knife and his own personal hell.

"Please. Please help us. Please don't leave us."

Rusty had _never _begged.

Danny was going to kill Patrick. He swore it.

"Excellent," Patrick said happily, straightening up. "You both did a wonderful job. Now there was one more thing, what was it?" He turned his back on them. "Oh, yes..." he said softly. "I remember..." and there was _something_ but Danny couldn't quite see what it was...

A pair of pliers.

"Something from the back, I think. Open wide."

He was screaming before Patrick even _reached _Rusty. Shouting and swearing and pleading and threatening.

No! Oh, God, no!

He had to watch. He _had _to. And he was struggling, trying so hard to get free, and behind him Dirk was _laughing _and he could hear the gasps of pain, the stifled screams that Rusty was trying to hide, and he was helpless.

It was over. And Rusty's head was slumped and he wasn't looking at Danny and Patrick was talking but Danny wasn't listening. Patrick wasn't important.

Finally, Rusty's eyes flickered up, and there was pain, so much pain, but they managed it, controlled it and they were together.

He didn't even realise what Patrick was planning until his head was forced back, until the hand was gripping his jaw and the metal was forced through his lips, grating over his gums, and it tasted of blood and that was worse than the pain, and then it was gripping his tooth, grasping and scraping and he could feel the tooth cracking under the pressure, a sharp, brutal agony that shot through his skull, and then Patrick _pulled _and it got so much worse and he was _screaming._

Patrick stepped away and Danny spat out mouthful after mouthful of blood, and tried to convince himself that the pain would fade away in a second. Any moment now.

He looked at Rusty. They were still together. Still in control. Still on top of things. Patrick could hurt them – God, Patrick could hurt them – but he'd never break them. That wasn't possible.

"You g'nna giv's the teeth?" he began and it was difficult to talk, his voice was muffled and distorted. "Because – "

" - toothfairy pays a nickel," Rusty nodded, and Danny almost couldn't make out the words.

"Sorry, boys," Patrick said, dropping the teeth fastidiously into a paper napkin. "I've got _plans _for these."

"Ver' creepy," Rusty commented lightly, and Danny silently and seriously agreed.

Patrick giggled again. "Let's get you settled in your new room, shall we?" he invited. He grabbed a pair of handcuffs from out of his coat pocket and gave a meaningful stare to Mike and Dirk behind them.

He felt himself being untied, and of course he was thinking about running, but Mike and Dirk still had guns, and he could see Mike's hand wrapped around Rusty's upper arm.

There was no opportunity here.

"One last thing I need from you," Patrick said cheerfully, nodding towards an envelope on the table. "Just need to get that all...sealed and ship shape. Rusty, if you'd be so kind?"

Patrick's hand shot out, lightning quick, crushing Rusty's hand, extending his finger painfully and Danny struggled but Dirk was holding him too tight and he couldn't hope to intervene.

With another little giggle, Patrick dragged Rusty over beside Danny.

"Now," he said. "Let's see..." and he was forcing Rusty's hand towards Danny.

"No!" Rusty shouted, an instant before the pain lashed up Danny's back as a finger was raked through the still-open knife wound.

Rusty's finger. Rusty was hurting him. And Danny _knew _that this was hurting Rusty a thousand times more than it would ever hurt him, and he turned his head, looking Rusty straight in the eyes, promising that it was alright, that _he _was alright.

But Patrick's hand was still gripping Rusty's and Rusty was dragged over to the table, his hand pushed down onto the envelope seal, Patrick pressed up close behind him, forcing him to leave his thumbprint of Danny's blood on the back of the envelope.

"There," Patrick breathed softly. "All done. You can go now."

They were marched out into the hallway, and Patrick was standing in front of a small door, holding the handcuffs and a flashlight. He gestured for Danny to take a look and Danny peered into the gloom; steps leading down into pitch black. A basement.

Or a dungeon, Rusty suggested silently.

Yeah. He'd been trying not to think that.

Patrick was watching their faces, clearly delighted. "On you go then," he said encouragingly.

They didn't have much of a choice. They walked down the steps and Danny grimaced at the dirt floor and the smell of damp and mould and decay. This place could have been lifted straight out of every zombie movie he'd ever seen.

All they could see was what Patrick chose to shine the flashlight at. And it wasn't looking terribly inspiring.

"On the floor against the wall," Patrick ordered, and, not seeing any other option, they obeyed.

There was heat coming from behind them. Must be the boiler. The flashlight was shining in his face, and then Patrick was grabbing his arm and he felt the clink of cold metal. A second later Rusty's arm was pressed right up against his and the cuffs were closed.

Cuffed together to a pipe. Terrific.

The flashlight was turned off.

The only light was coming from the doorway back up to the house.

"Danny, there is a pitcher of water about a foot to your right," Patrick announced. "Rusty, there's a bucket about a foot to your left. I suggest you don't get them mixed up." He giggled. "Not unless Daddy takes a _long _time to get in touch, anyway."

They heard him walking away and briefly he was framed in the doorway.

Then the door closed and they were alone in absolute darkness.

A second later and Danny's arms were around Rusty and Rusty's hands were gripping his shoulders tightly, and they were pressed against each other, as tight as could be, and he could feel Rusty's breath on his neck and he didn't know which of them was trembling.

This...this nightmare had come out of nowhere. They hadn't been prepared. They hadn't been able to stop a second of it.

He kissed Rusty's forehead and he wished he could take the pain away.

He knew Rusty was wishing the exact same thing.

They'd do anything for each other. And they were stronger together.

"So," he began eventually, as brightly as he could, sitting up, his hand gingerly cradling his jaw, trying to make it hurt less. "This is shaping up to be one hell of a day."

"Yeah," Rusty agreed, shifting sideways until he was pressed against Danny's side, and Danny automatically leaned in, taking what comfort he could. "You more worried about the fact we've been kidnapped or the fact that you're gonna end up standing Leigh up?"

"She's not _that _bad," Danny protested automatically.

"Patrick _wishes _he was that scary," Rusty retorted.

Danny grinned and immediately regretted it as the pain seared his mouth. He bit his tongue for a few seconds before managing to carry on. "You're only saying that because she walked in on you - "

" - _yeah,_" Rusty said like it was obvious. "Wouldn't you be?"

A few seconds of silence. Felt like the lightness had been enough. Enough that they weren't panicking, enough to let adrenaline fade and reason take over.

"So what's going on?" Rusty asked quietly.

Danny shook his head and it didn't matter that Rusty couldn't see it.

"It was like he wanted to have something to show to someone," Rusty went on. "Some kind of leverage."

Right. "I thought maybe he's looking for a ransom," Danny said heavily. "Maybe something we've pulled where - "

" - but he knew us," Rusty pointed out. "He knew who we are. Fuck, he knew stuff that no one knows. Stuff we don't tell anyone."

"I _know,_" Danny agreed, frustrated. "But it's all I can think of. _None _of this makes sense."

There was silence.

"What?" Danny asked.

"Your Mom has money," Rusty said eventually, reluctantly.

Danny froze. Mom did have money. Would she be willing to pay to save him, though? Once upon a time, yes. But it had been over three years since he saw her, four since she'd washed her hands of him...he couldn't imagine it. And she'd _never _have been willing to pay anything for Rusty.

"She doesn't have the kind of money people get kidnapped for," he argued. "And besides. Patrick was talking about D...about a man."

"What, then?" Rusty asked. "Some wealthy philanthropist who's willing to part with hard cash to stop _anyone _from being tortured? Because that sounds pretty fucking unlikely to me."

Yeah. He sighed. And stilled. "Rus'? Is it me or are these cuffs getting kind of warm?"

They were. And now he'd noticed it he couldn't ignore it, and it was uncomfortable now and heading rapidly towards painful.

"They're around the pipe," Rusty said after a second, and Danny could feel him twisting around, stretching up behind them with his free arm. "Maybe..._ow..._maybe we can...fuck."

"What?" Danny asked quickly.

"'s hot." There was a pause and a second later Rusty's cuffed hand gripped his and he was being directed to lift his arm high and back. "Okay...long as we sit like this the metal isn't pressing against the pipe and it won't get any hotter."

And that was all very well, but this wasn't exactly comfortable either. Already he could feel it in his shoulder.

Rusty's hand pressed against his face briefly in the dark, a silent apology for not being able to come up with anything better, for Patrick, for not finding a way out of this whole mess.

Danny turned his head and kissed the back of Rusty's hand and he was apologising for the exact same reasons.

"How are you doing?" he asked quietly.

He felt the shrug against his shoulder and he knew about pain and anger and frustration and humiliation and _fear_.

"Me too," he said softly.

"And you wonder why I don't want to go to the dentist," Rusty said after a second.

He smiled and he could feel his mouth swelling. "_They _give you a lollipop if you're a good boy."

"Huh," Rusty said thoughtfully, clearly considering dentists in a new light. He turned his head and Danny knew he was trying to see him in the dark. Wasn't going to happen. "You still bleeding?"

His nose had stopped, he was pretty sure. His mouth...difficult to tell. He could still _taste _blood. But that wasn't what Rusty had been asking, and he could feel the blood trickling down his back. "Little bit," he admitted.

"We need to do something about that," Rusty told him and Danny could hear the guilt at the pain Rusty thought _he'd _caused. "Danny I – "

" – not your fault," he said fiercely, not willing to even entertain the apology. "It was all him. You _know _that."

Rusty sighed. "We still need to do something about that," he said.

Obvious he wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Patrick didn't exactly leave us a first aid kit," he pointed out gently.

"He left us water, Danny," Rusty said patiently.

He hesitated. "We're gonna need that," he said at last, reluctantly.

Beaten and locked up in the dark with no food.

He leaned over as far as he could and he fumbled until his hand lit on Rusty's arm, grasping reassuringly, and he pressed his lips against Rusty's briefly. "We might be here a long time," he said.

"I know," Rusty said, and only Danny would be able to hear the tremor underlying his words. "But if they get infected...'s all going to be worse." _You could die, _Rusty didn't say but Danny heard it anyway. "And water is better than nothing."

He wanted to argue, he really did, but the problem with that was, here and now, he didn't want to _argue._ "Let's check how much water we have first," he suggested instead.

"To your right," Rusty reminded him immediately. "Don't knock it over," and he was probably lucky that he couldn't see the look that Danny gave him.

He reached out very, very carefully, his hand flat on the ground, inching forwards. Because, yes. If he knocked over the water they were fucked anyway. His fingers bumped against something soft and crumbly and he froze.

"What?" Rusty asked anxiously.

"I think...I think it's bread," he said relieved, and he picked it up and carefully sniffed it. Yeah. Bread. And it didn't smell fresh, but it didn't smell rotten. "It's been on the ground," he added with a grimace, and he could just imagine the dirt all over it.

Rusty's hand briefly touched his arm. "It's all we've got."

"I know," he said with a sigh, dropping the bread gently beside him, where he'd be sure to be able to pick it up when they needed it. "But not yet."

"Sooner than later," Rusty told him. "Bread goes bad fast. 'Specially when it's so damp down here. And it'll attract rats."

Danny shivered. He didn't like rats. "So, what, half a piece each a day and then we starve?"

"If we can figure out when a day has gone by," Rusty said, and there was something he wasn't sharing...

He turned quickly and the handcuffs were back resting against the pipe, and he ignored the growing heat and discomfort. Both his hands seized Rusty's. "You're eating too."

Rusty paused. "I'm more used to going without. I can get by without food for a bit."

Even after all this time Danny had to bite his lip until the blood came. "Once, maybe," he said evenly. "Not for years now."

"Well - " Rusty was always going to argue.

Didn't mean that Danny had to play fair. "You think you're tougher than me? You think I can't cope?"

"No! I - " Rusty started to protest, but Danny leapt straight back in.

" - I might as well say that you should have it all because you're still growing."

Silence. "I am not still growing," Rusty said, which was close to concession.

"Oh yeah?" Wincing, Danny carefully repositioned their hands, away from the heat. That was going to take some getting used to. "You want to explain why you don't wear your sky blue suit anymore?"

"It - "

" - shows about an inch of ankle," Danny nodded and he knew Rusty was grinning. "We share everything, Rus', you know that. Else it doesn't work."

"Can't blame me for trying," Rusty said softly.

"You're very trying," Danny agreed fondly.

"Water," Rusty reminded him quietly, and he nodded and gingerly felt around in the dark until his fingers grasped a pitcher.

Very, very carefully he picked it up. It was full, which was something at least. A couple of pints he'd guess, maybe.

He wasn't sure just how much water it took to keep two people alive. But he didn't think this would stretch very far.

"What do you want to bet it's poisoned?" Rusty asked lightly.

Danny blinked. "Oh, you're always the optimist, aren't you?"

He had to seriously consider it for a moment, of course. Because Patrick hadn't had any problems hurting them. Maybe this would appeal to his sense of humour.

On the other hand did they really have a choice?

He laid the jug on the floor and dipped his finger into the water quickly, before sticking it in his mouth. "Tastes like water," he announced.

"Next time you think something might be poison, don't _drink _it," Rusty said sharply.

Danny shrugged. He didn't seriously think it was poison. He didn't think that this would be over that quickly. "He was making a video to show to someone, right? What would be the point in killing us before it's done?"

"Yeah," Rusty said doubtfully.

"And in the van. The game," Danny went on reluctantly. "He - "

" - liked watching. Yes," Rusty said, sounding far more convinced. Patrick wouldn't leave them alone to poison themselves in the dark because Patrick would want to see the pain.

There was the sound of teeth tearing fabric – Rusty's t-shirt sleeve, he identified - and then Rusty leaned forwards, reaching past him, and briefly, as the water splashed, the cuff pulled against the pipe, but Rusty moved back again before the heat came.

"You're gonna need to lean forwards a little," Rusty told him apologetically. "This isn't easy to do one handed."

"Right," he nodded, doing as he was told, carefully keeping his arm twisted behind his back to keep as much pressure off the cuffs as possible.

"It's gonna hurt," Rusty added and he already knew that but the quiver of apology in Rusty's voice hurt more.

Right now, though, everything hurt. His ribs and head, his nose, the damned _tooth_...all of it. And he knew Rusty was no better off and that was the worst pain of all.

He stayed still as Rusty carefully felt his way around his back, and he couldn't avoid the hiss of pain as the damp cloth brushed over the cuts. It _hurt._ But the coolness was soothing and the pressure helped, and really, he knew that not bleeding was best.

"So," he began, because talking at least meant he could take both their minds away from the pain. "Any chance you're going to tell me that you had plans to meet up with someone today who's gonna notice and come looking?"

He'd been going to meet Leigh in the evening, of course. But she'd never realise they were _missing,_ she'd assume he'd stood her up. The best he could hope for was a hurt note.

"No one," Rusty told him and he wasn't surprised.

They didn't really have anything on at the moment. Couple of plans, but nothing that involved anyone else.

For the first time in his life, he kind of wished he had a nine to five job.

"So no one's going to be looking for us," he said heavily. And that meant it was up to _them _to get them out, and right now, unless something changed drastically, he wasn't seeing any solutions.

"Yeah." Rusty sounded troubled. "Saul said he'd be back some time next week. And he'll try phoning us at some point. And if he doesn't get an answer, eventually he's gonna try coming round. And he'll see the mess and he'll know something's happened."

That was all true. Though it had a lot more 'at some points' and 'eventuallys' than Danny altogether liked. "He still won't have any idea where to start looking," he pointed out, though if he trusted _anyone _to find them, it was Saul. Then he remembered. "You lifted something off Mike."

"Yeah," Rusty said again. "It was a matchbook or something. I was hoping for something better. Not sure how much that'll help."

Danny hated the despondency in Rusty's voice. "Always works for Columbo," he argued. "You saying Saul isn't as smart as Columbo?"

Rusty grinned in the dark. "Let's try and get ourselves out of here," he said, taking his hands away from Danny's back.

"Right." Danny sat up straight. "Where are we?"

"Not completely sure," Rusty answered apologetically. "Brownsville, somewhere. Southern end. Near the railway, I heard a train just before we pulled up."

Okay. He couldn't think of anyone they knew in that part of town, friend or foe. And that just added to the mystery. "Got anything useful on you?" he asked hopefully. He already knew he didn't.

"I do not take lockpicks to bed," Rusty told him and there was a note in his voice...

"You mean you didn't _before,_" Danny stated with absolute certainty. "Oh, _that _is going to make your love life interesting."

"Cuffs are tight round the pipe and the pipe's solid," Rusty went on, ignoring him. "We're not gonna be able to get them off. And there's no way of sliding the cuffs along more than about a foot either." There was the sound of shuffling. "Pipe's too low for us to stand up too."

Danny nodded. "We're stuck here then."

"Yeah," Rusty agreed, a tremor of misery in his voice.

"For the moment," Danny told him, his voice soft. "We'll get out of here, Rus'. We will."

He just wasn't quite sure how.

* * *

Danny had no idea how much time passed before the door opened again, spilling painful light down the stairs towards them.

It _felt_ like forever, he knew that. Must have been days at least, though there was no way of telling.

They'd tried everything they could think of to get free. With a lot of effort, he'd managed to pull a piece of plastic off the bucket handle and for hours or days they'd taken it in turns to use it to try and pick the lock on the handcuffs. It was the wrong shape and it bent and broke and melted by turn and they never seemed to make even the slightest bit of progress.

They sawed the handcuffs against the pipe for as long as they could bear the burning, silently agreeing together that pain _now _was better than being trapped here longer, and it didn't _matter _how much it hurt because it didn't seem to do a thing.

No matter what, they couldn't force their hands through the handcuffs. They were just too tight for that. But that didn't stop Danny quietly trying and he _knew _that it didn't stop Rusty trying, and he didn't want to think about the state their wrists were in.

There was no escape. Not like this. And after what might have been a month as easily as it might have been a couple of days, they agreed that all they could do was wait and hope.

They sat shoulder to shoulder, holding hands in the dark, telling each other old jokes and older stories and all that mattered was they both knew they weren't alone.

The bread lasted as long as Rusty felt was safe. The first mouthful tasted stale and disgusting. The last had the bitter tang of mould and Danny ate it anyway and didn't complain. Hunger gnawed at his insides and it was physically painful.

He'd never been hungry like this before. He'd had to do without meals now and then for various reasons, back when he was a kid, mostly when Mom forgot, but there'd always been something and it had never been like this.

"Try not to think about it," Rusty told him softly. "It helps if you keep your mind off it, at least for a little while."

He nodded resolutely and challenged Rusty to another game of twenty questions, and neither of them ever _won _but that wasn't the point.

The water lasted better than the bread but it was still running out. Rusty nudged him now and then, made him take a gulp, and every time Danny refused until he heard the pitcher move and Rusty promised him he'd drank.

A couple of times Rusty lied.

A couple of times Danny lifted the pitcher but didn't actually drink.

Each time the other one knew and was patient and persistent.

They shared everything. Else it didn't work.

The pain lessened and that was something. The bruises were still there, but Danny would guess they were starting to fade. And the agony in his mouth had subsided to a dull, constant throbbing. Enough that he was able to gingerly probe the gap with his tongue and ask Rusty if it made him vain if he was thinking how it would affect his smile.

Rusty laughed and that was good to hear.

Captivity grated on Rusty like nothing else ever did. There were times when he could hardly bear it. When he was curled in on himself as tight as he could, fists clenched, trembling with the effort to stay in control, to stay on top of himself. At those times it was all Danny could do to hold him close, to let him take even a moment of comfort in Danny's presence. This couldn't last. This was killing Rusty slowly.

The metal cuffs brought another source of pain too. Impossible to escape completely. Sometimes the heating would be up at full blast, and they'd sit as far forwards as they could, desperate to escape the burning at their backs, and the cuffs felt white hot and no matter how hard they tried to stop the metal touching their skin it was there, spreading blistering agony, and he listened to Rusty's soft whispers of pain and there were tears in his eyes.

Occasionally the desperate heat would fade and the cuffs would be almost bearable. That was when they'd sleep, curled up against each other, holding each other as close as they could until, inevitably, they were wakened by the feeling of pain and burning flesh.

"What if no one comes?" Rusty asked dully, the first thing either of them had said for a while. "Maybe Patrick didn't get the answer he wanted, so he's just gonna leave us here to die. And no one will ever - "

Danny squeezed his hand in the darkness. " - Saul will find us," he told Rusty confidently, and it didn't matter whether or not _he _believed it, the point was that Rusty did. Should. "Someone will come."

Someone did.

It wasn't Saul.

The door opened and the light came spilling down the stairs and he squeezed his eyes shut instinctively, turning his face away, aware of Rusty doing the same thing. It _hurt._

He wondered just how long they'd been down here.

"Hi, boys," Patrick said, silhouetted in the doorway. "I _do _hope you've been behaving."

Not a rescue then. Not by a long shot.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Rusty said.

"You'll be pleased to know that Daddy has _finally _decided to do something about your...predicament," Patrick said with mock solicitude. "And now we just need the _teensiest _bit of cooperation on your part."

"Go to hell," Danny said immediately. Not even the _teensiest _bit of cooperation.

Patrick sighed. "Have you forgotten all your lessons so quickly, Danny? Tell me, did Rusty _like _being trapped down here?"

With an effort Danny suppressed the snarl. He could only hope that his silence seemed respectful enough.

"It's alright," Rusty said carelessly. "Be better with a few a scatter cushions or something. You know. If you're _thinking _of redecorating."

"Well, I'm terribly sorry to disturb you then," Patrick said as he walked down the stairs towards them, Dirk and Mike a step behind him. "You'll be back here soon I'm sure." He stood in front of them and glanced sideways at the bucket. "Disgusting," he commented with feeling. "Imagine if Daddy could see what you were reduced to." And Danny kept his gaze blank and indifferent and he _wished _he couldn't picture the expression on Dad's face.

"Take them upstairs," Patrick ordered and Mike bent down over them, unfastening the cuffs and this should be the time to run, really it should be, but Mike, Patrick and Dirk were all standing between them and the door.

He could sense Rusty's agreement. Later. Soonlater but this wasn't opportunity.

Embarrassingly his legs buckled under him as he was dragged to his feet and he cursed his own weakness. So much for escaping. He couldn't even _walk._

He could hear Patrick giggling and he gritted his teeth and Rusty stumbled over to him, put his arm around him and they were supporting each other up the stairs, Mike and Dirk just behind them.

"Get a move on, will you!" Mike snapped impatiently.

"Fucking useless fags," Dirk grunted and there was laughter but this was opportunity and his hand squeezed Rusty's quickly, understanding transmitted by fingertips.

The second they were over the threshold and they were moving, slamming the door shut behind them, because all they had to do was trap their captors and they were free.

They had the element of surprise.

They were fast.

Mike was faster.

His foot was in the door before it shut and then his arm was forced through the gap bit by bit and they were throwing all their weight against the door, desperately trying to force him back.

Wasn't enough.

The door flew open and they were thrown backwards, falling to the floor before they could save themselves.

Patrick was standing over them, shaking his head sadly. "Well, _that _wasn't very clever, was it? Honestly, Daddy must find you _such _a disappointment."

Rusty sat up slowly. "Why do I get the idea that _your _Daddy didn't hug you enough?"

"Some sort of compensation thing going on," Danny agreed, and then a hand closed brutally around his burnt wrist and he was yanked upright and dragged through to the room they'd been in before.

The video camera was still set up but it wasn't turned on for which Danny was profoundly grateful.

He turned to look at Rusty, seeing him properly for the first time in god knew how long. The bruises were still there and his cheek looked painfully swollen, but there was more anger in his eyes than fear and he gave Danny a small smile.

Danny smiled back.

(_I'm okay, you're okay, we're together._)

"Hold Danny's hand against the wall," Patrick ordered, and Dirk complied. "Oh, my, Danny. Your wrist really isn't looking healthy, is it?"

Unwillingly, Danny turned his head and looked. It really wasn't. He could see the marks the cuffs had left and he could see he swollen blisters, the scarlet burns. And he could _feel _it too.

"I just need to take a couple of pictures," Patrick said, raising a polaroid camera and snapping away happily. "Daddy needs to know what he's done, after all."

"What _you've _done," Danny corrected softly.

Patrick gazed at him for a long moment. Then, without any warning, he backhanded Danny hard across the face and Danny stumbled back.

"_I didn't start any of this!"_he screamed.

There was silence for a second and Patrick seemed to recollect himself.

"Rusty's turn," he announced. "Mike, if you'd be so kind..."

Mike held Rusty's arm against the whitewashed wall. Rusty was tight lipped and furious and said nothing. His wrist looked just as bad as Danny's.

"There we go," Patrick said cheerfully when the picture was taken. "Back downstairs with you."

There was no chance. No opportunity. They were hauled down into the basement, cuffed again and Dirk took the opportunity to get in a few punches, and Rusty was swearing at him, straining against the cuffs, trying to get in between him and Danny.

Presently they were alone in the dark again, Rusty's arm wrapped tight around his shoulders.

"What the fuck do we do?" he asked and he already knew there was no answer.

"He said...he talked like someone had been in touch with us," Rusty said slowly. "About us."

Yeah. And still nothing made _sense._

"The photos..." Rusty went on. "He wants someone to know we're - "

" - alive," Danny said, at the same time as Rusty said "In pain."

"Both," Rusty said with a shrug.

The sigh shuddered through him and his face was buried in Rusty's hair for a moment. "We back to the benevolent philanthropist?" he asked. "Because why _us?"_

Rusty shrugged uneasily against him.

They just didn't _know._ But every time Patrick made one of his little cracks about what Daddy would think Danny was left with the memory of disappointment in his father's eyes, and that somehow made it very difficult to concentrate on what was _likely._

"They'll be expecting us to try the same thing again," he said out loud. "We won't get another chance like that." Which meant they had to try something different. "Maybe if they take us upstairs again you can try and find something to pick the cuffs with? If I keep them distracted?"

Rusty sat up sharply and they both knew the only way Danny was going to manage to keep them _distracted. _But it was the best shot they had, even if Rusty didn't approve.

They never got a chance to even try.

Didn't seem very long at all before the door was opened again.

But this time it crashed violently against the wall, making them both jump, and Patrick was running towards them, _screaming._

"Fucking cheating _bastard!" _He kicked out, driving his boot into Danny's ribs, and Danny twisted instantly as Patrick drew his leg back for another shot, wrapping his arms around Rusty, trying to cover as much of him as possible, and Rusty's arms were thrown across Danny's head, pulling him down. They huddled together, trying to shield, to protect, and the kicks rained down regardless.

"Do you think this is easy? Do you think this is just a game? Well it's my game! My rules! And I'm not going to let him get away with this. Whatever happens it's _all his fault!"_

He didn't seem to be talking to them. Didn't even seem to be aware of them, except as a target for his fury.

It hurt so much.

And Danny was never going to cry, was never going to give Patrick the satisfaction, but he was vaguely aware that if this didn't stop, eventually they'd die, and his hands gripped Rusty tightly and he could feel every wince and gasp of pain and that hurt more than anything else ever could.

Eventually the kicking stopped and Danny struggled desperately to get his breath back as Patrick crouched in front of them, his eyes on Rusty.

"It's not enough...it's not _enough._ I _need _to make you suffer. I need him to know."

His fingers traced down the side of Rusty's face slowly, fingering the swollen cheek, and Rusty's eyes were blank and the pain was far away.

"Leave him alone," Danny said hoarsely.

Patrick glanced at him and smiled widely. "Thank you, Danny. That's a very good idea. I'll be back in a while."

Moments later and they were alone and in the darkness.

"Danny?" Rusty asked softly, and there was a lot of '_Are you okay?' _in there and just a little '_Am I okay?'_

"Yeah," he said instinctively, and he tried to sit up, tried to find some way to make the pain less, but he was hurting all over again.

Rusty's hand found his and he held on tight and they didn't want to ever let go.

"What do you think he meant?" Rusty said hesitantly and Danny knew he was imagining all the ways Danny could be taken away from him. All the worse places Danny could be taken, all the pain that could be inflicted when Rusty wasn't there to know...Danny _dying _and Rusty being left alone forever.

Danny squeezed his hand. "I don't know," he answered honestly, and he did his best to bury his relief at the idea that they were going to focus on him, that Rusty might just be safe.

"He's...if he hurts you..." Rusty broke off, and they both already knew that there would be nothing Rusty could do.

They sat in silence for a time, desperately clinging to each other like this could be there last night together.

Impossible to know how long it was before the door opened again. A couple of hours, Danny would guess, but it could have been as little as ten minutes. Dread had a way of dragging time out beyond all reason.

It was just Mike and Dirk who stood there looking down at them coldly.

"The boss wants you upstairs," Mike told them, unfastening the cuffs.

"You notice that your boss isn't exactly playing with a full deck?" Danny asked sharply.

"Insanity doesn't exactly make for long term career prospects," Rusty added.

Dirk laughed and kicked Danny's leg roughly. "Not our problem. We just take the money. Now get the fuck up these stairs."

Was no chance of even _trying _to get away this time around, his arms were pinioned behind his back and Mike wasn't letting go.

They were shoved roughly into the room and Danny vaguely noticed that Patrick was on the phone, vaguely saw him lay the receiver down on the table even – _"You ready?_" – but then he was staring across the room and trying his absolute hardest not to scream.

There was...

No!

Oh, God, no. Not this.

There was a body bag lying neatly on the floor. Just the one. And a shovel.

They were...Patrick was gonna kill one of them. Patrick was gonna kill one of them and it _had _to be him, it just had to be, because it mustn't be Rusty, and he was already working out how to make sure it was him, how to drive them to kill and how to apologise to Rusty, and he was already struggling and swearing and trying to anger and antagonise.

Then Patrick was standing between them, his arms slung companionably over their shoulders.

Rusty turned his head and snarled at Patrick, and Danny could see the exact same plan in his eyes. "Fuck off, already," Rusty spat at Patrick, and Danny's lips were set. Not Rusty. Not ever Rusty.

"Tell me," Patrick whispered, ignoring them both. "Have you ever seen 'House of Usher'?"

"No!" Rusty's voice. A short sharp note of absolute terror, and in Danny's mind he was already seeing the scene, buried alive, trapped and helpless, struggling to breathe stale air, choking and alone and claustrophobic and terrified, screaming for help that would never come.

(_Not Rusty, not Rusty, not Rusty!_)

Patrick giggled delightedly and nodded at Dirk, and Dirk was dragging Rusty away from Danny, towards the body bag, and Danny was kicking and struggling, needing to get to Rusty, needing to save him. "Let go of him you sick bastard!" he shouted, wrenching his arm away from Mike with superhuman effort and he ran across the room, trying to drag Rusty away by force.

"Danny!" Rusty's voice was almost unrecognisable. Pleading and terrified, and Danny hadn't heard him sound that young and afraid for so very long.

Their hands met for a moment, sweatslicked, brief and electric.

Then Danny was hauled back and Dirk forced Rusty to the floor.

Danny twisted around and stared at Patrick. "Don't. Don't do this. _Please."_

Patrick didn't listen. He hung up the phone delicately. "I think that should give Daddy something to think about, don't you?" he remarked. He glanced over to where Rusty was struggling desperately on the floor, Dirk sitting on his bare legs. "Honestly, Rusty. If you make this too difficult for poor Dirk, we're just going to have to use Danny instead."

Rusty froze.

Patrick giggled. "I'm sure you'd be happy to take Rusty's place, wouldn't you Danny?"

"Yes," Danny said immediately. "Oh, yes. _Please._"

"You see, Rusty?" Patrick said triumphantly. "All you had to do was say and it can be _Danny _buried in the dark...now why don't you lie still like a good boy and let Dirk tie you up?"

Slowly, and Danny could see the tension and the terror in every movement, Rusty clasped his hands behind his back and Dirk quickly twisted layers of duct tape around his wrists and forearms.

"Very good," Patrick approved. "Now just keep lying still and let Dirk do your legs too. We want you to be as corpse-like as possible, after all."

Danny was howling with wounded, mindless rage, and fear, throwing himself back against Mike, kicking and scratching – anything to get free, anything to make this _stop._

Dirk finished with Rusty's legs and picked him up by the neck of the t-shirt, dragging him over to the body bag, stuffing him inside.

"I think it's time to say goodbye, don't you?" Patrick told Danny. "After all. This might be your last chance."

Danny hung limply in Mike's arms, staring into Rusty's eyes.

He didn't have any words.

There _were _no words.

There was nothing he could say. There _was _no way of saying goodbye to Rusty.

Their eyes met and there was a thousand silent apologies, a thousand silent promises. Love and sorry and strength and forever.

The tears were running down Danny's face.

"Nothing to say?" Patrick asked disappointedly. "Oh well..."

"Night night," Dirk said with a grin, and he spat in Rusty's face before he zipped the body bag shut.

"No!" Danny screamed, and he tore himself free somehow, punching and kicking, a mess of rage and incoherence, and he watched, almost satisfied, as Mike doubled up, clutching his stomach.

The click of a gun and he froze.

Patrick was pointing his gun at Rusty's head.

"Now, now, Danny," Patrick chided. "I know you don't want Rusty to suffer, but is a merciful death really the answer you're looking for?"

"No," he said hoarsely. He could never want that.

"Although I suppose it wouldn't necessarily be merciful," Patrick mused, and the gun moved down Rusty's body. "I could just shoot him in the leg...or the stomach, maybe...let him die slowly in his grave."

"No!" Danny pleaded. "Please. Please just let him go."

Patrick pursed his lips. "I think I liked your first idea better. Now. Pick up the shovel, Danny. It's time to go downstairs."

Dirk slapped something into his hands and Danny stared down at the shovel.

He couldn't...he _couldn't._

"Down to the basement, Danny, "Patrick said softly. "Or it all ends here."

He glanced at the body bag. Rusty wasn't moving. And Danny guessed that was because he was still too scared that Patrick might hurt Danny...but he couldn't be _sure._

He nodded jerkily and followed Mike downstairs and they led him to a corner and told him to dig Rusty's grave.

The light in the basement was dim. Flickering flashlight. He couldn't see what he was doing. He was feeling his way around a hole in the ground, left to imagine the shape it was taking.

He could smell the earth, musky and stagnant as he dug, rising above the smells of damp and piss and misery that made up the basement.

The shovel bit into his hands, blistering lines of pain across his palms and the ache was spreading across his back and shoulders.

If he focused on these things, these little things, the things that didn't matter, then he could suppress the screaming, at least for a while.

Rusty's...Rusty was lying on the edge of the hole (_grave_) beside him. He could barely make the shape of the body bag out in the dim light, Could barely see Patrick's foot resting casually on where Rusty's chest would be. Barely see the point of the gun that never wavered from Rusty's face.

If he just reached out his hand he could touch Rusty, and yet Rusty was an eternity out of his grasp.

"Dig," Patrick told him. "Dig your baby brother's grave."

And Danny did.

"You can get through this," he whispered and he'd never know if Rusty could hear him. "You're strong and you can get through this. This isn't the end. I promise I...you don't get to give up till I do, you hear me? And I'm _never _giving up."

"That's right, Danny," Patrick giggled. "Lie to him. Tell him it's all going to be fine."

Danny ignored him. That wasn't what he was saying. Because it wasn't.

"You're not alone, Rus'. Not where it matters. I won't abandon you. Not ever."

He tried to choke back the tears and the salt splashed onto the gravedirt at his feet.

"Aw, are you crying, Danny?" Patrick crooned. "You should have kissed Rusty goodnight while you had the chance."

He bit hard into his lip.

The shovel was a weapon in his hand.

No.

Not while the gun was pointing at Rusty's head. He wouldn't – couldn't – take that chance. Not ever.

He dug. He dug and dug, and hoped and prayed and in his mind he could see someone coming charging in that door, righteous fury and revenge and rescue. (_Please, Dad, please._)

No one came.

No one ever came.

And Danny dug Rusty's grave.

After a few feet, Patrick clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Well done, Danny. I bet you haven't worked this hard in your life."

The hand closed round his shoulder and Danny was dragged up, out of the hole, glaring his hatred.

Patrick casually kicked Rusty down into the grave.

"Don't worry," Patrick went on brightly. "I'm not planning on _leaving _him there."

Danny felt a stupid upsurge of hope.

Dirk leapt down and started threading a long piece of rubber tubing into the bottom of the body bag.

"That might allow him to breathe," Patrick remarked conversationally. "I'm not really sure. I've never tried this before." He giggled. "But you'd better be nice to me, because I can easily block it up at any moment. And then darling Rusty would _certainly _die. Are you going to be nice, Danny?"

Danny nodded wordlessly.

"We'll dig him up when the lesson's sunk in," Patrick explained, as Mike and Dirk started shovelling the dirt down on top of Rusty's body. "Keep your fingers crossed. He might even still be alive."

Danny couldn't stop the tears from falling no matter how he tried.

Patrick was laughing at him.

The dirt piled up over Rusty's body.

There was no escape from this.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: This should be the last of the three long chapters, so hopefully now the update rate will increase. Hopefully. :) Sorry to have kept you waiting so long.**

* * *

They'd let go of him at some point and he sank to his knees beside the..._grave_...and his hands were clawing manically through the dirt. He had to reach Rusty. He had to reach Rusty because Rusty was _alive _and he was going to be frightened and Danny had promised to always come for Rusty, he'd promise he'd never leave Rusty alone and trapped in the dark.

He was screaming. Calling Rusty's name over and over again and again and if there an answer he couldn't hear it.

"Now, now, enough of that," Patrick chided, and there were hands on his shoulders dragging him back, dragging him away from Rusty.

Patrick.

Patrick had done this.

Patrick had hurt them. Patrick had trapped Rusty. Patrick had made him...

With a wordless cry of absolute fury he turned and threw himself at Patrick, punching and kicking, no finesse, no thought, no reason, just wild desperate violence.

For a moment it seemed as if Patrick was taken by surprise. For a moment Patrick staggered backwards under the onslaught and Danny's fists buried themselves in Patrick's stomach. But then Mike and Dirk were hauling him away and Patrick was laughing again.

"Now, now," Patrick said, trailing his fingers over Danny's face. "That wasn't very nice, was it? I did warn you I could stop Rusty getting any air, didn't I?" He walked around Danny, his fingers remaining poised on Danny's cheek. "Suffocation isn't a nice way to die." His arm snaked around Danny's throat. "Why don't you try it first and see if that's what you want for Rusty?"

Patrick's grip tightened and Danny was choking. Gasping. He couldn't breath. And Patrick kept talking.

"I really don't know if Rusty has enough air, you know. This is sort of new territory for me too. It's an experiment! Isn't that _exciting? _I suppose it depends on a lot of factors...is he prone to panic attacks? _Abused children _often are, you know. If he hyperventilates he'll probably die. Hell, he could be dead already. We won't know until we dig him up. Won't that be a treat?"

Danny blinked back tears and he didn't know if it was rage or distress.

"So what is his problem anyway?" Patrick asked with interest. "Did his parents keep him in a box? Does Daddy Dearest lock him in the basement when he's naughty? Or is he just a fucking coward?"

He wrenched his arm away suddenly and there was a second when his hand was in front of Danny's face and Danny didn't think and didn't hesitate, he just sank his teeth into Patrick's hand. Hard.

Patrick screamed.

"Rusty is not a coward," Danny declared levelly, spitting a mouthful of blood at Patrick's feet.

It wasn't completely stupid. It _wasn't. _Patrick had a hairtrigger and a bad temper and most of all he liked watching them in pain. If Danny just kept him unfocused - off-balance - then maybe he'd forget about Rusty. Rusty couldn't defend himself. Danny couldn't let -

_Rusty trapped underground, the weight of the earth pressing down on his chest, his legs, tears rolling unheeded down his face as he desperately gasped for another breath that would never come._

Patrick examined his arm with an expression of rage and disbelief. He lunged forwards and grabbed Danny, his hand clasping around the back of Danny's neck, dragging him towards the stairs. Dragging him away from Rusty.

"No!" he screamed, trying to pull away, but Patrick's grip didn't lessen for a second. "Let me go!"

"Come along, Danny," Patrick giggled. "You wanted to leave Rusty alone. That's exactly what we're going to do."

The door at the top of the stairs slammed behind them.

"Perhaps I should just nail that door shut," Patrick mused. "How do you think Rusty feels knowing that no one is coming to save him? Knowing you've left him?"

Rusty! Rusty was down there. Rusty was alone and frightened. Danny was screaming at Patrick. Begging incoherently. Shouting and pleading and struggling and Patrick _laughed._

Their hands were on him. Dragging him through to the living room and he was struggling and kicking and they forced him onto the chair, tied him down until all he could do was swear at them.

Patrick trailed his fingers over Danny's cheek again. "Don't hold back, Daniel. Please. Say what you're _really _feeling."

"You fucking _bastard,_" Danny spat.

He hadn't felt this powerless in a very long time.

The phone rang further in the house and Patrick sighed regretfully. "Looks as though you will have to wait, Danny," he said and he went off to answer it. Mike and Dirk went with him, leaving Danny alone.

He was alone and Rusty was alone and he couldn't stop thinking about how frightened Rusty would be, couldn't stop picturing the look Rusty got in his eyes when he was trapped, the blankness, the wildness, the pain and the memory. He remembered long ago; hiding and helpless, the smell of dust and sweat and mould, the oppressive weight of danger, Rusty's hand clamped over his mouth, his other hand gripping Danny's fear-tight and he'd thought that Rusty would never stop trembling. But he'd been there then. Rusty had been in control because Danny had been there, and this time he wasn't and Rusty was...would be...

Danny was screaming. Rage and hate and terror spilling out of him, wordless and desperate and pleading.

* * *

Patrick didn't come back for a long time. Impossible to know how long. Felt like several lifetimes and all he could think about was Rusty, trapped and suffering, and the ragestorm didn't let up any.

Vaguely, in some small corner of his mind, he wondered if his fury might attract some attention. Some neighbours might hear, might call the cops, might save them. Only with their luck, they'd be arrested too. And besides. Earlier, with the video, with the pliers and the _teeth. _They'd screamed. Both of them. God, they'd screamed, and either no one had heard or no one had cared.

(_Neighbours who heard the sounds of suffering and did nothing. Sometimes, in his darker moments, Danny wanted to let them know how that _felt._)_

He yelled and swore and struggled, twisting against the ropes, blind to all the pain he was still in.

Eventually, finally, the door opened and Patrick was stood there, leaning on the door frame, watching him. "My, my," he crooned, his eyes fixed on Danny. "You are making quite the fuss, aren't you?"

Danny licked his lips, his voice hoarse. "Please," he pleaded. "Let Rusty out. It's not too late. It's been long enough. You can let him out. _Please. _I'm begging you."

"Yes you are, aren't you?" Patrick giggled. "What _would _Daddy think?"

Danny knew exactly what Dad would think. "I don't care," he whispered honestly. Nothing else mattered except getting Rusty safe.

Patrick crossed over to stand in front of him and gently wiped his finger over Danny's cheek. "You're even crying for me," he said gleefully and he held the finger up in front of Danny, showing him the tears, before he deliberately stuck it in his mouth sucking it before removing it with a satisfied pop. "Salty."

With an effort Danny kept his face impassive.

"You know, I was always planning on letting Rusty out," Patrick said conversationally, and Danny hardly dared even feel the hope. "At some point. But that can be sooner...or it can be later. And I think that depends on you. What will you do, to encourage me to let Rusty out early?"

"Anything," Danny promised immediately, absolute truth ringing through his words. "Anything at all."

"Anything?" Patrick repeated. "Anything I want? Everything I ask?"

"Yes," Danny agreed because there was nothing he wouldn't do. If Patrick asked him to saw his own arm off, all he'd ask was left or right.

"You'll be nice to me," Patrick pressed.

"_Yes,_" Danny said. "Sir," he added, remembering that old habit of Rusty's and maybe Patrick would like it.

By the gleam in his eyes, Patrick did. But then he held his hand up in front of Danny's face and Danny buried his satisfaction at the sight of the livid, bloody toothmarks. "You bit me. _That _isn't very nice now, is it? Nice boys don't bite."

He was twenty years old. Nearly twenty one. He was not a boy.

"Bad dogs bite," Patrick went on and then he was dangling a dog collar and chain in front of Danny. "And if you want to be a bad dog that's how I'm going to treat you. Is that okay with you Danny? Will you be my dog?"

For a second Danny couldn't speak.

"You said you'd be nice to me," Patrick reminded him. "And I always wanted a dog."

"Y..yes," Danny said at last "Yes."

"Yes what?" Patrick pressed.

"Yes I'll be your dog," Danny said through gritted teeth.

"_Good," _Patrick crooned and he quickly fastened the chain around Danny's neck. Danny couldn't quite hide the shudder of revulsion as the cold metal closed around his throat. _For Rusty. _This was worth it. "Now," Patrick went on gleefully. "Good dogs don't need to be tied up, do they?"

He was untying Danny and quickly Danny considered whether this was an opportunity worth taking. Maybe he could knock Patrick out. Reach the basement. If nothing else, maybe he could barricade them in the basement while he got Rusty out. They'd still be trapped, but at least Patrick couldn't hurt him.

The chain was pulled tight before Patrick undid the last knot, before Danny could attack, and he was choking and he couldn't even think of fighting.

"There we go," Patrick said brightly and the pressure let up. "Now, remember what happens to bad dogs. Come along, Danny."

He was dragged off the chair as Patrick walked off, the collar immediately pulling tight, and he struggled to his feet and started to follow.

Patrick immediately stopped and looked back, a mock frown in place but his eyes were delighted. "Now, now, what do you think you're doing? Dogs don't walk on two legs now, do they Danny?"

He stared for a long moment. Patrick couldn't seriously...of course he could. And he had Rusty. Silently, obediently, Danny dropped down onto his hands and knees.

"Good boy, Danny," Patrick approved. "You crawl after me."

He did. And he hated.

Patrick headed out into the hall, Danny following at his heels.

"You know," Patrick began conversationally. "Danny even sounds like a dog's name, don't you think? Like Lucky or Trixie or something. It's certainly not something a man would call himself."

Danny bit the inside of his mouth hard. Nothing Patrick said mattered. He was aware of Patrick looking down at him, aware of the disappointment at the lack of his reaction, but he just kept moving, his arms and legs aching.

"Are you hungry, Danny?" Patrick asked solicitously after a second.

God, yes. He didn't even know how long it was since he'd last eaten, but he was starving. He didn't respond though. He didn't know what Patrick had planned, but he doubted it involved ordering pizza. (_And Rusty wasn't going to get any food._)

The collar pulled tight and he was gasping for breath. "I asked if you were hungry, Danny," Patrick said with mild, amused reproof. "I'm sure you must be but I want an answer."

"Yes," Danny managed to choke out, and he was pulling at the collar, struggling for air.

"Alright then," Patrick said and the collar loosened. "Come through to the kitchen and let's see what we have for a good dog."

There was a window in the kitchen and Danny looked up at it immediately, searching for any clue as to where they were. It was dark outside. All he could see was the night sky and the lights from the surrounding buildings. It meant nothing to him.

Patrick saw him looking. "Aw, did you want to go outside?" he said sympathetically. "If I could take you to the park I would. We could play fetch. Imagine that." He burst into a fit of giggling.

Danny clenched his teeth and said nothing.

After a moment Patrick started rummaging in the fridge. "Let me see...what do we have here that a good dog would like?" he wondered out loud, and Danny couldn't see, but he could hear the rummaging of dishes and packets.

Humiliating as it was, his mouth was watering at the thought of food.

"Ah, meatloaf," Patrick announced, taking something out of a tub. "That suit you, Danny?" He held the grey lump out towards Danny.

"Fine," Danny ground out, reaching out a hand.

Patrick immediately snatched the food away. "Uh uh," he scolded.

Danny stared at him.

"What sort of dog eats with his hands?" Patrick asked. He held the meatloaf out again with an air of expectation.

Like hell. Danny sat back and stared levelly at Patrick and said nothing. He might be starving but he wasn't that desperate.

"Good dogs eat treats out of their master's hand," Patrick said softly.

Well wasn't that just dandy for them.

"Good dogs get to play with their friends sooner," Patrick added, the giggle running under the whisper.

Oh, God.

Beaten, he crawled closer to Patrick and started eating the meatloaf out of his hand. It was cold and greasy and it tasted of degradation and defeat.

Patrick scratched affectionately behind his ear as he ate. "There's a good boy."

He swallowed the last of the disgusting meat and fought down the urge to throw up. He could taste the bitter vomit at the back of his throat. God. He couldn't help but be relieved that Rusty wasn't here to see this. He could imagine that wide-eyed look of horror all too well.

"Did you enjoy that, Danny?" Patrick asked, grinning down at him.

Danny kept his expression neutral. He didn't want Patrick to see the hatred in his eyes. Didn't want to risk making him any angrier. Didn't want Patrick to think that anything he did to Danny _mattered _to him_._ "It was fine."

"I suppose Rusty must be hungry, don't you think?" Patrick mused. "Too bad you ate it all. You could have shared with him. That's rather selfish of you, don't you think?"

The thought of Rusty, hungry and alone in the grave Danny had dug for him, overwhelmed him and he couldn't stop the soft moan of pain.

"If you're not even going to _consider _your little brother, perhaps you don't really want him back after all," Patrick went on. "Perhaps I should just leave him to rot. Leave him – "

" – No!" Danny shouted before he could help himself. "Just let him go! _Please _let him go."

"All this fuss again?" Patrick raised an eyebrow. "Really, I would have thought you'd got all the screaming and shouting out of your system earlier." He reached over to the sink and grabbed a dishcloth. "It's time for civilised people to sleep," he said, stuffing the cloth into Danny's mouth and the taste was foul. "We don't need bad dogs keeping us awake all night."

There was no universe in which Patrick could be described as civilised. But if he was being left alone...left upstairs, even...maybe they might have a chance.

Patrick laughed softly at him. "Your tail is wagging," he said and he pulled the handcuffs out of his pocket and roughly cuffing Danny's hands behind his back.

Fuck. Dismayed, Danny watched as he looped the chain through a washing pulley and pulled it tight. He wasn't going to be able to get that loose. Not without hands.

"Goodnight, Danny," Patrick said cheerfully and left him alone in the kitchen.

Danny stayed very still, crouched on the filthy linoleum and listened to the creaking of the stairs. Sounded like Patrick had gone. Just that he didn't trust him not to come back.

He counted breathlessly to a thousand in his head before he let himself believe that Patrick really _was _gone, at least for the moment. Thank God. Now to see what he could do.

The chain around his neck was short. He couldn't quite reach the door on one side, or the fridge on the other. He could reach the table behind him, but there was nothing there worthwhile. And, if he really stretched, until the chain was practically throttling him, he could reach the sink and the drawers.

First things first; he leaned over the sink and painfully nudged the tap on with his mouth, and for every movement he got a stab of urgent pain in his missing tooth. Still, it felt worth it when the water started running. He was so _thirsty _and eating that fucking meatloaf hadn't exactly helped. Wasn't exactly easy to drink through the gag, but he held his mouth under the tap, let the cloth get soaked through and sucked at it until he managed to get a few swallows of moisture.

Tasted foul. Tasted like soap and rotting food and god knew what else and little crumbs and sops of soggy food slipped down his throat and made him gag.

Rusty would be thirsty by now. Rusty wouldn't even be getting _this..._

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he wasn't going to be able to do _anything _for Rusty if he got too sick from dehydration.

Next, he needed to get out of these handcuffs. Out of the handcuffs, then he could undo the chain, get to the basement, get Rusty, and they'd be out of the front door and out of the city before Patrick was even awake.

He gave the fantasy rein for the smallest of seconds and in his head Rusty was alive and alert and smiling at him, reassurance and calm and love, telling Danny to check the drawer and cupboard.

Took a lot of effort. He managed to catch his lip on the corner of the cupboard and drag it open painfully slowly. Washing up liquid, bleach and a few clean cloths. Nothing there that helped and he felt the growing frustration. He wasn't going to let Rusty down. He _couldn't._Tasting his own blood through the gag, he repeated the process on the drawer and caught his breath. There was cutlery inside and that was more promising. Just that he didn't exactly have a way to pick it up. Grimacing, he knocked into the drawer hard with his shoulder, all his bruises protesting, and after two or three hits the drawer fell to the floor with an almighty clatter.

Even as he was listening for the sound of someone coming to investigate, he was searching through the scattered contents for any kind of weapon. Not like pretending innocence would be any defence if Patrick _had _heard, but maybe a good sharp knife was.

Fruit knife. That'd do. He shuffled around until his back was to the drawer and felt across the ground until his fingers closed on the wooden handle. This was a chance, if only he could get his hands free.

There was no sign of Patrick. Apparently the man was a sound sleeper.

Something to pick the cuffs with, and here it seemed like his luck was done. Nothing looked workable. Was it too much to ask for a packet of paper clips or something?

Rusty was waiting for him. Rusty would be expecting Danny to save him - Rusty was _counting _on him and Danny wasn't going to let him down.

Okay, so he wasn't going to be able to pick the lock but that wasn't the only option. He grabbed a bread knife off the floor and spun it around until the blade was on the chain between the cuffs and started sawing. Oh, there was a good chance he was gonna wind up accidentally slitting his wrists here.

It wasn't going to be like that. If - _when _- he got Rusty out, he might imagine that Rusty was going to be fine, but the truth was...he closed his eyes for a moment and he knew the tears were falling again. Rusty wasn't going to be okay. Even if Rusty was alive - and please, please God, let Rusty be alive - he wasn't going to be okay. Danny remembered that night they'd spent trapped in the school office, a few hundred lifetimes ago. For days after Rusty had been quiet and withdrawn. Lost in odd moments in some other world or time. And the nightmares that had left him shaking and clinging to Danny, biting his lip to stop the tears, they'd lasted for _weeks._

(Danny wondered if maybe he might just have lost Rusty for good.)

He didn't know how long he was left alone in the kitchen. He sawed and sawed at the cuffs until his hands were numb and blistered and still he barely scratched the surface. For time to time he dozed and still he didn't stop trying, his hands moving automatically even as he hovered on the brink of sleep. He had to get out of here and then, after they were safe, he'd be able to come back and deal with Patrick the way he should be dealt with.

Time passed and Danny had never felt so alone and when he closed his eyes he could see Rusty sitting there beside him, feel Rusty pressed against his shoulder, close and comforting, Rusty's voice telling him that everything was going to be alright...

When he opened his eyes he was alone and Rusty was alone and it felt like nothing was ever going to be alright again.

There was no one to see him cry.

Eventually, through the window, he watched the sky lighten and he peered through, looking for any familiar landmarks. Nothing. Just grey buildings and a greyer sky.

A new day. He wondered how long they'd been here. It felt like forever. Someone had to have noticed they were missing by now, right? Saul would be looking for them, like Rusty had said. Only Danny wasn't sure how they could be found...

He heard Patrick coming before the door opened and quickly he grabbed the fruit knife, holding it tightly. Maybe he'd get a chance. Patrick had to have the handcuff keys on him, maybe if Danny could just hurt him enough he could get free.

"Good morning, Danny," Patrick said genially as he threw the door open. "You're still here? I would have thought that you'd have dug Rusty up and left by now. I guess you didn't _want _it enough, huh." He giggled manically at his own joke.

Danny was too tired to stop the hatred from showing.

"There's no use in being grumpy," Patrick scolded. "It's time to talk to Daddy again."

Right. He wondered how long it would take before Patrick realised that _no one _was listening.

Patrick carefully unhooked the dog chain and dragged Danny to his feet and maybe this wasn't the moment Danny had been waiting for but he couldn't wait any longer because Rusty was gone and every second counted. He twisted round, his back to Patrick, and the knife was in his hands and he slashed out desperately – tried to slash out – and Patrick was gripping his wrist, squeezing, twisting, and Danny cried out and he heard the knife clatter to the floor.

Patrick didn't let him go. In fact, Patrick moved closer until he was pressed against Danny's back, Danny's wrist twisted up between them, and his breath was hot on the back of Danny's neck. "Now that wasn't very nice, was it Danny?" he whispered. "You promised that you were going to be nice to me. Don't you remember?" He giggled. "If I have to leave Rusty down there in order to make you learn, you're the one who's going to have to explain it to Daddy."

No! Not that. Anything but that.

With another giggle, Patrick shoved Danny forwards until the chain pulled tight, and Danny gasped desperately for air, and then Patrick spun and walked off, leaving Danny scrambling to keep up and keep the pressure off his throat and all he could think of was where his next breath was coming from.

He was dragged back into the living room and Dirk and Mike were there, standing behind the camera.

"Everything alright, boss?" Dirk asked, glowering at Danny

"Just peachy," Patrick answered. "Hit the button, will you?"

Dirk complied. Apparently they were recording now. Danny didn't think he was going to get much of a chance to smile for the camera; Patrick was still pulling the chain tight. And Patrick wasn't even looking at him, he was just staring into the camera and talking in a low voice to the mysterious whoever. "Hi. I thought you might like to know how your boys are doing this morning. Are you missing them yet?"

He pulled on the chain and Danny was caught off guard, stumbling forwards, barely able to catch himself from falling, and his fists were clenched behind his back, and he couldn't keep the hate from his eyes, and Patrick didn't pay him a blind bit of attention. From the moment the camera switched on all Patrick's focus was elsewhere.

"You're probably wondering about the gag," Patrick went on, and Danny was reminded of the taste again and he kept his face blank. "Well, Danny here has just been shouting and screaming all night!" Patrick went on with a giggle and he was pulling the chain tight, and Danny was struggling to breathe, barely able to hear what Patrick was saying. "It was really getting quite distracting. And we don't want the neighbours complaining now, do we? We have to be considerate, you know. We have to think of others."

He knew what Patrick meant by that. The little jab about him not thinking about Rusty. About him not having tried hard enough to escape, to get Rusty free, to please Patrick and get Rusty released. He could have done more and now he was choking and dying and Patrick wasn't letting up and he was going to die and Patrick hadn't let Rusty go and he was barely conscious of the snarl and the anger and the hatred he was mouthing.

"There's just no teaching him is there?" Patrick asked, letting the chain loose for the smallest of seconds, enough for Danny to take a gulp of precious air before the pain returned. "I don't know how you put up with him. He won't listen to a word I say." Suddenly, ridiculously, Patrick was reminding him of Mom, of Juliet Darcey, of all the people in his life who had told Danny that he wasn't worth it. Something in the tone and he fought the urge to hang his head. "And look at this!" Patrick added, holding his hand up to the camera. The hand that Danny had bitten. And _that _was the right reaction, that was the very least of what Patrick deserved and Danny wasn't ashamed of it.

He thought maybe Patrick caught his satisfaction. Certainly Patrick's eyes narrowed, and he forced Danny down to his knees, made Danny kneel at his feet. "I told him. If he's going to act like a dog, he can be treated like one," he said softly and Danny felt his eyes prickle with renewed humiliation and helpless anger and then Patrick's foot was on the back of his neck, bowing him down to the ground, and Patrick was talking to the camera again.

"How does it feel? Seeing the son you're so proud of begging at my feet? Nothing more than my pet. Tell me how it feels Saul?"

It took a second for it to register.

_Saul?_

A second of numb disbelief and then his mouth was flooded with the bitter taste of failure and he wanted to melt into the floor.

Patrick was talking to Saul. Oh, god, Patrick was talking to Saul, had been all along. All the tapes, everything that Patrick was doing...that was for Saul. To make Saul do something, to punish him...Danny didn't know. But they were being held over Saul's head and god, that meant that there were three of them in this hell and Danny hadn't managed to get them out of it. And Saul would see _this,_ would see him like this, and Danny didn't think he could bear it.

He looked at the camera quickly - looked at Saul - willing him to see...what? Forgiveness? Apologies? That he was sorry they were caught, that he was sorry that he'd let Rusty get hurt...oh, god, he'd let Rusty get hurt and he _knew _what that would do to Saul.

And he tried to ignore the tiny whisper in the back of his mind; _Saul was coming for them._

Patrick was looking down at him and Danny got the idea that this little revelation hadn't been part of the plan. "Oops. So now you know. This is all about Saul Bloom. He killed my son, you see."

Yeah. Right. Not in a million years. Danny couldn't picture it and Danny didn't believe it and Patrick kicked him hard in the mouth and the anger was roaring through Patrick's voice. "He killed my son so now I'm taking it out on you. Everything you're going through...and your brother..." he took pleasure in adding and Danny shuddered. "That's all Saul's fault too. This is what's fair."

This wasn't Saul's fault. This was Patrick's fault. Patrick was the one hurting Rusty, hurting them. And maybe it was a little Danny's fault, but he didn't blame Saul. He'd never blame Saul and he let that contempt and disbelief show.

He'd got good at recognising the signs of Patrick's impending fury and he managed to brace himself before Patrick grabbed his hair and dragged him up. "Doyou _want_ Rusty to stay down there longer_?" _Patrick whispered in his ear. "Maybe you want all Daddy's love to yourself, huh? Maybe you'd be quite happy to never see Rusty again."

Nonononononon! He shook his head frantically, pleading with his eyes, promising he'd do whatever Patrick wanted and Patrick laughed and dropped him back to the ground. "You see?" he demanded joyfully. "He learns better like this."

Danny was going to kill Patrick. Someday soon, Danny was going to kill him.

A moment later and the mood had changed. _"_You know, I've been thinking a lot about parenthood lately. All the small joys. All the things you'd never even think of. Story time and pictures on the refrigerator and checking for monsters under the bed. Watching them grow up. You know, one of my happiest memories is the first day that Benny came home from kindergarten with a picture. Hand and footprints. He was covered in paint, he'd skipped all over the sheet of paper. I swear, that thing hung over my desk for a year. All the guys thought I'd gone soft. I didn't care. He was my kid."

There was something in Patrick's voice that in anyone else might have stirred Danny's sentimental side. Something that spoke of loss and desolation and loneliness and yearning. He hardened his heart. Didn't matter what it was. There were no excuses for this. No mercy.

"I feel sorry for you, Saul," Patrick went on, moving closer to the camera. "You didn't even meet your sons till they were teenagers, right?" For a moment Danny wondered how it would work if he pointed out that they _weren't _Saul's kids. He didn't think Patrick would accept that somehow. (_And for Rusty it wasn't even true._) "You've missed so much. That must _hurt._" A pause and he looked at Danny and Danny thought that he wasn't going to enjoy what happened next. He hid the fear and the dread. Patrick wouldn't see it. Saul _mustn't _see it. "Maybe I'll help you out..." Patrick said speculatively and he descended into another fit of laughter until Mike turned the camera off.

"So there you go," Patrick said when he finally stopped laughing. "I think that should give Daddy plenty to think about, don't you?"

Danny's fingernails were curled tightly into his palms. Yeah. It would. Saul might not be his father, whatever Patrick thought, but Saul was a friend - a good friend - and Danny could imagine only too well how seeing him like that - beaten and...and _cowering_ at Patrick's feet - was going to make Saul feel. And Patrick had hardly _mentioned _Rusty and Saul wasn't going to know what had happened; he was just going to see that Rusty wasn't there and that was going to kill him. Speculation could drive you mad. Times of not _knowing _and wondering and imagining the worst...and Danny knew how Saul felt about Rusty.

He saw it in odd moments. From those first months after Vegas, when Danny had been wasting his time in college, and with April, and Rusty had spent the time with Saul and it hadn't just been the con he'd been learning. But Danny saw sometimes, the looks of pride and affection and joy and it reminded him of how Dad had looked at him occasionally and how he'd wanted Dad to look at him all the time. It made him feel warm inside. He'd felt like Rusty finally had something he deserved, and now Patrick was using that against them?

Previously, he wouldn't have believed it was possible for him to hate Patrick more than he already did. Now it felt really fucking easy.

"Oh? Do you have something you want to say to me, Danny?" Patrick asked with mock solicitude, pulling the gag out of Danny's mouth.

Danny bit back on the thousands of things he really wanted to say to Patrick. "Let Rusty out now. Please."

"Maybe if you're a good boy," Patrick promised. "That reminds me. You know what I was thinking just there? Good boys make presents for their parents. All parents like to get things their kids have made."

Yeah. Danny remembered being a kid. They didn't.

"I'm going to go and get some stuff so _you _can make a present for Saul," Patrick told him. "Maybe that will encourage him to hurry up and actually do something for you, don't you think? He's been running around like mad, but I'm not so sure he really wants you back. You'd think he'd try a little harder than _this, _wouldn't you?"

It wasn't going to work. He wasn't going to let anything that Patrick said touch him.

Patrick looked across at Mike and Dirk. "Put him in the chair. Make sure he doesn't go anywhere."

They were dragging him across the room before Patrick was even out the door, their hands rough on his bare shoulders, and Dirk at least was taking great pleasure in seeking out all the cuts and bruises he could find.

Danny bit his lip. He wasn't going to make a sound. No matter what they did, and no matter what Patrick was going to do.

What _was _Patrick going to do?

A present for Saul?

He couldn't imagine what Patrick was thinking, unless...oh, God.

The teeth. The teeth that Patrick had pulled out. He'd said that he had plans for them. He must've sent them to Saul. And maybe now he was going to send Saul something else. A finger or a hand or an eye or...

His teeth sunk into his lip until he tasted blood.

He'd said he wasn't going to make a sound. He _wouldn't. _He'd do what Patrick wanted and maybe then Patrick would let Rusty out, because it had been all night at least, twelve hours maybe, more even, and Danny didn't need to reach to imagine how alone Rusty was, how frightened. He knew the taste of despair, knew how it was when desperation faded into hopeless resignation, and still Rusty would struggle and fight and Danny _needed _to get him out.

Even if that meant staying still while Patrick cut off whatever Patrick wanted to cut off.

"Can't wait to see what the boss has planned for you," Dirk grunted in his ear.

Danny smiled nonchalantly up at him. "That just goes to show you really need to get a TV in this place."

Patrick came back into the room and the adrenaline was racing through Danny and he could practically _hear _his heart beating faster and faster.

With a smile, Patrick held up a large sheet of paper. "Here we go!" he announced cheerfully. "I thought you could paint Daddy a pretty picture."

The relief was ridiculous because he _knew _it wasn't going to be that simple, but nonetheless he felt like he'd been given some miraculous reprieve.

"Only I couldn't find any paintbrushes," Patrick went on. "So I thought you could make him a nice footprint picture. It was your bare feet gave me the idea."

Okay...? Danny tensed and he was waiting and he hadn't quite got the shape of what Patrick was saying.

"Only I couldn't find any paint either," Patrick added. "So then I thought we'd have to improvise."

He held up a knife.

Danny stared at it for a long moment, his eyes wide and full of dread and fear.

"Unfortunately it does mean we'll only be able to use one colour," Patrick went on, his eyes fixed on Danny's. "Still. I like red, don't you?" He glanced to Mike and Dirk. "Hold him still."

The hands tightened on his arms and shoulders, but more than that, Danny willed _himself _to stay still as Patrick crouched down in front of him, the knife gleaming in his hand.

The first cut he barely felt. He watched as Patrick dragged the knife gently over the sole of his foot, blood oozing up in its wake, and it felt almost as if it was happening to someone else.

The second cut, running crossways, and it felt like a fire was beginning to spread beneath his skin.

The fifth cut and he was choking back his screams by sheer willpower and Patrick's eyes were gleaming just as bright as the knife.

Eventually, long after Danny had lost count, long after his feet were reduced to an unrecognisable red tattered mess, Patrick grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

"Now, just walk on the paper and make a nice picture," Patrick instructed.

Danny didn't trust himself to open his mouth. If he opened his mouth he was going to start screaming and that wasn't going to happen. He nodded jerkily instead and he tried to walk forwards, he really did, but it was like walking on a carpet of white-hot needles and he would have fallen if Patrick hadn't still been holding on to him.

"Let me help you," Patrick offered tenderly, looping his arm through Danny's, and maybe if his hands were just uncuffed he'd be able to balance.

With Patrick supporting every step, he shuffled over to the paper and trailed across it slowly, every step a new agony, and he couldn't help but look down, couldn't help but look at the bloody marks he was making.

A memory from a long time ago. Red footprints in the hall, trailing up the stairs. Had it hurt Rusty as much as this?

"Can you imagine Saul's face when he opens his mail and gets to see this?" Patrick asked Danny softly. "I think it'll be a moment he'll never forget."

Danny closed his eyes for a moment and the taste of blood was sharp in his mouth and God, Saul, he was sorry, he was so, so sorry.

He carried on walking and it didn't feel like the pain was in his feet anymore, it felt like it was everywhere, like wildfire running unchecked through his body, destroying everything it touched.

"Stop," Patrick said after an eternity and Danny could have cried with relief as he was led back to the chair, as he got to sit down, as the pain faded from unbearable to mere agony.

Almost he wanted to thank Patrick, and that was dangerous and that was wrong and he mustn't start thinking like that.

"It looks as though our ink supply has dried up," Patrick said, eying the paper critically. He turned to face Danny again and his smile was wide and sharp. "Let's do something about that, huh?"

The knife was in Patrick's hand.

Hell began again.

* * *

By the time Patrick finally grew bored, Danny was barely holding on to consciousness. The pain was overwhelming and his jaw was clenched so tight he thought he might never be able to speak again.

It took him a few moments to even realise that they were done and that Mike and Dirk were dragging him back downstairs to the basement.

Back towards Rusty. The thought gradually permeated through the fog. Rusty was down there, waiting for him, and Patrick still hadn't promised he was going to let Rusty out.

He twisted around to face Patrick, walking behind them, and he looked at him pleadingly. "I did everything you wanted. I did. Let Rusty out now. Please."

Patrick looked at him consideringly for a moment and then looked across to the corner of the basement, where they'd buried Rusty. "No..." he said slowly. "No, I don't think so Danny. I don't think you want it enough."

Danny could weep. "I _do_," he pleaded fervently I do. Just let Rusty go and I'll do whatever you want."

"No, not yet." Patrick shook his head and in one movement snapped the cuff off Danny's right wrist and refastened it around the boiler pipe. "Why don't you stay here for a while and think about what you could have done better. I'll be back in a few hours. Or days. Or maybe a week." He broke off into joyous laughter and Danny was left watching as they walked back up the stairs, and then the light snapped off and he was in darkness again.

He didn't waste any time before starting again to saw the cuffs against the pipe. It hadn't worked last time, but last time he'd been hurting Rusty as well as himself. This time it was just him and that meant that it was easier to ignore the pain. Easier to let everything compress into one burning truth; he had to get them out of here. For Rusty's sake, for Saul's, for his own, he had to get them out of here _now_, and next to that crushing need, a little more pain didn't even register.

He hauled at the cuffs and did his best not to think too much, because if he thought he was gonna start screaming again, and he didn't have the time and he didn't want to give Patrick the satisfaction.

His wrists blistered all over again. The cuffs didn't budge.

Again, he didn't know how much time passed until Patrick returned. Didn't think it was quite the days that Patrick had threatened, but it was forever nonetheless.

"Hello again, Danny," Patrick greeted him softly as he walked down the stairs, and Danny hardly heard the words because Patrick was holding a shovel in his hands, and that was all Danny was focused on.

(_Please pleasepleaseplease_please)

Patrick saw him looking and _smiled._ "Oh? Would you like to dig Rusty up?"

Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes. The hope was running wild through his soul and he was half-crazy with it. "Yes, please, Patrick."

Patrick hefted the shovel thoughtfully ."Do you think he's still alive?" he asked curiously.

It was a genuine question and hidden inside himself, Danny was howling. "Yes," he bit off with as much defiance as he dared. Rusty was alive. Rusty had to be alive, there was simply no alternative.

(_And if he wasn't...Patrick would beg before the end._)

"Well, let's hope so," Patrick nodded. "And you want to see him. I suppose you're feeling lonely."

"Something like that," Danny agreed, and right now he'd agree with anything Patrick said.

"Time to show me how much you want it," Patrick said, dropping the shovel to the dirt. "Get on your knees, Danny."

There was the sound of laughter from behind Patrick and startled, Danny looked past him to realise that Mike and Dirk were on the stairs. They must've been there all along. He hadn't even noticed...

Awkwardly, he got up onto his knees, and his arms were pulled up painfully behind his back.

"Very good," Patrick approved, walking casually over and unfastening the cuffs, and Danny let his aching arms fall to his sides.

He didn't move. Even though the shovel was lying just a few feet away and it almost looked worth it – he could imagine bringing it down across Patrick's head, could imagine the blood and the silence. But Mike and Dirk were just there, and they'd shoot him before he could reach Rusty, and then Rusty might never get out.

He stayed on his knees, in the dirt, and Patrick slowly walked back around him and stopped immediately in front of him.

For a moment, a terrifying thought crossed his mind and his fingernails dug deep into his palms.

"How much do you want to save Rusty?" Patrick asked softly. "You're on your knees in front of me. Will you beg me?"

It wasn't like it was the first time. Not nearly. "Please," he said immediately. "Please let Rusty out. I swear I'll do anything if you'll just let him out."

"Very nice," Patrick said with a giggle ."You've got a real talent for that. And as it happens, I am inclined to grant your request. Since you asked so nicely. But why don't you just kiss my boots first? Just to seal the deal."

Danny glanced up at Patrick, his eyes expressionless. Then he silently bowed down and planted a brief kiss on each of Patrick's boots in turn.

"_Very _nice," Patrick said again, and he grabbed Danny's chin and dragged his head up, looking him straight in the eyes. "The next time you see Saul Bloom, I want you to remember that you did that. I want you to remember that you did that to save Rusty from Saul's mistakes. Don't ever forget how that feels."

Danny didn't think he ever would. But he _knew _whose fault it was.

"After all this fuss and now you're not helping Rusty?" Patrick sighed. "Get to it."

He scrambled across the floor, grabbing the spade, and standing was impossible agony, but he _had _to, he had to dig, and he was balanced on the outsides of his feet, on his toes, anywhere he could stay standing, and the shovel hit the dirt again and again, and it wasn't fast enough, he couldn't dig fast enough.

All the time he was digging he could hear himself chanting mindlessly. "I'm coming for you, Rus', I promise, you're going to be fine, I'm nearly there, I'm nearly there."

A few times his legs couldn't support him anymore and he fell into the hole, had to use the shovel as a crutch to drag himself back to his feet.

Somewhere behind him, Mike and Dirk were laughing.

"I'd have thought you could do better than this," Patrick remarked. "Won't it be ironic if you get to Rusty and he's just this moment died because you took too long? Wouldn't that be funny?"

Nononononono. That wasn't going to happen. Rusty was going to be fine. Rusty was going to be _fine._

The spade bit into the ground again and again, and when he was getting close, when he couldn't dig anymore for fear of hurting Rusty, he fell onto his hands and knees and scrabbled away the dirt with his hands until finally the body bag was uncovered and his hands were on the zip and he pulled it open and Rusty was there and Rusty was _breathing _and Rusty was _alive._

Rusty was alive.

Danny was sobbing with relief.

He pulled Rusty up and out and his fingers automatically tore off the tape that bound Rusty's hands behind his back, and he held Rusty as close and tight as he could, his arms wrapped around like he was never going to let Rusty go.

He saw that Rusty's face was tearstained. Saw that Rusty's eyes were wild and blank. Saw the nightmare that was etched through Rusty's being.

But Rusty was alive and Danny was holding him, rocking him helplessly back and forth, and it didn't even matter that they had a jeering audience looking down on them.

They were together. That was what mattered.

He held Rusty close and murmured nonsensical things. "I'm here," he promised. "I'm sorry."

Rusty didn't answer but his arms were tight around Danny's waist, clinging on like he was afraid that Danny might just vanish if he let go.

Danny stroked his hair and kissed his forehead and didn't imagine what it would be like to be buried alive for so long. "I'm here now," he said again.

Rusty looked him in the eyes for the first time, and Danny hated the fear that was there, hated the hell Rusty had been living, hated the distance he could see, the emotional-shut down, but Rusty was asking him a question and he had to answer.

"I'm fine," he said, as dismissively as he could. "'s nothing."

He could almost laugh at the disbelief in Rusty's eyes, and then Rusty's hand was in his, squeezing tightly.

"As touching as all of this is, I'm afraid we have to get a move on," Patrick announced loudly. "We're all supposed to be meeting Daddy in a little while. I promised him a family reunion. Won't that be fun?"

"It's Saul," Danny said in Rusty's ear as he carefully unwound the tape from Rusty's ankles. "Patrick blames Saul for something so he's taking it out on us."

Rusty shot him a look of absolute horror, and Danny thought that was probably the way he'd looked when he found out. And he hated doing this when Rusty was so fragile, but it'd be so much worse if Rusty walked in unprepared.

But they were going to see Saul now? Maybe...maybe there'd be some sort of chance there. He could hope. Seemed like that was all he could do.

"Are you two going to get up those stairs to the van or are we going to have to drag you by the hair?" Patrick demanded impatiently.

Yeah. Danny doubted that either of them could actually walk. But they were sure as hell going to _try._

He stumbled to his feet alongside Rusty, supporting each other in every step of the process. He felt like an old man and they hadn't even _tried _walking yet.

The silence was killing him. Like it always did. And he understood why Rusty had retreated into himself, understood the reaction to horror and helplessness, and it hurt him just as much as it hurt Rusty, but they couldn't afford it right now.

There was no way he could cope with this alone. It was selfish, but he just _couldn't_.

He needed Rusty.

His arm was across Rusty's shoulders and he leaned in and whispered in Rusty's ear. "I'm sorry, but I need you to say something, Rus'. Please."

Rusty looked up at him quickly, understanding and apology in his eyes. He grasped Danny's arm reassuringly and for a second his lips moved silently. "'m fine," he whispered at last, hoarse and unsteady and Danny squeezed his hand tightly.

They were bruised and bloodied and beaten, being taken by a madman to meet Saul, and god only knew what would happen then.

"Even by our usual standards, this is a fucked up version of fine," he whispered back.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Back to shorter chapters and Saul's pov. And there are probably...five or six chapters left? At a guess?**

* * *

"And then they bundled us back in the van and we drove straight to the warehouse," Danny finished. "And...and you know what happened there."

Saul did. And he wasn't anxious to make Danny repeat it.

All through the story Danny's voice had been calm and unemotional, but Saul had still been able to hear all the horror beneath. Horror and exhaustion and tight fear and misery and Danny wasn't going to be okay until Rusty was back safe.

And no matter how much Danny had skimmed over the details, Saul still hadn't been able to hide his reactions. When Danny had mentioned the bodybag...and later, the _knife._...he'd reached out and grabbed Danny's hand, and it had been partly about the reassurance and mostly about his need to be certain that Danny was here and real and safe.

He'd heard Bobby's occasional sharp intake of breath. The occasional muttered profanity. He hadn't looked round. He didn't need to imagine how Bobby was feeling, he was feeling it too.

"I let Patrick see how me and Rusty are," Danny said in a low voice, his eyes fixed on his hands, his hands twisting the edge of the bedspread over and over again. "You told us we had to be more careful, and I let Patrick see and he used it."

Danny sounded younger than Saul had ever known him. Young and uncertain, and not-Danny, and he reached out and laid his hand over Danny's, stilling the restless fidgeting in an instant.

Vaguely he was aware of Bobby stepping back, giving them more room.

"I told you to be more careful," he agreed. "But this is not your fault, Daniel. Patrick didn't go after you because of you. If he hadn't used that he would have used something else." Maybe something more permanent and a dozen awful options flitted through his mind. He struggled to hide the shudder. "I told you that it is not an easy thing to hide. I understand that. Do you really think that there's anything else you could have done? Could you really have let Patrick hurt Rusty and not said _anything?_"

Danny shook his head quickly but he still didn't look up, and Saul understood why. They'd been hurt before, too many times, but they'd always had each other to draw strength from. He didn't think Danny had ever _really _understood how their bond could be a weakness as well. A hell of a thing to have to adjust to.

"Daniel?" His voice was firm but gentle. "Look at me please."

Unwilllingly, Danny complied.

"This is not your fault," Saul told him sternly. "You couldn't have anticipated Patrick - "

" - I practically told him how to hurt Rusty," Danny broke in, his voice desperate. "He buried Rusty alive because of me_._"

"Because of _me_," Saul corrected, and he was never going to hide from that truth. "He was always going to hurt you, Danny. _Both _of you. You can blame yourself, if you really want, but Patrick is the one who really deserves it, isn't he?"

A second and Danny nodded slightly.

"Rusty doesn't blame you," Saul added, because that was as obvious a statement as two plus two is four, or the sky is blue. "And _we _need to focus on getting him safe first of all."

Danny closed his eyes for a long moment, his hands still wrapped in Saul's. "Okay," he said at last. "So was any of that helpful? What do we know?"

Bobby cleared his throat and stepped forwards, standing beside Saul. "We know more than we did. Thank you, Danny." The look he gave Danny was filled with concern and care and pride. "You said the kitchen was at the back of the house, yeah? And the kitchen window was immediately opposite the front door?"

"Yes," Danny agreed immediately.

"And you were there all night," Bobby continued. "When the sun rose, was it immediately in front of you, or off to the side, could you see?"

Dannv closed his eyes for a long second, and Saul figured that admiring the sunrise had been the last thing on his mind.

"It was straight through the window," Danny said at last. "I'm sure."

Bobby nodded. "We're looking for a two storey house with a basement on the east side of the street," he said. "Grey buildings immediately behind it and, we can't be certain, but I'd suspect that either no houses are immediately adjacent or they're abandoned. From what Danny said, Patrick was very confident of not being overheard."

That all made sense, and Saul couldn't help but think that Bobby made a very _good _FBI agent. "We know the general area," he added. "We can hit the streets, find the house, and move."

Danny frowned. "If Patrick sees us looking before we see him, he'll take Rusty and vanish," he pointed out tersely.

Yeah. And that was the _best_ case scenario. "We'll keep it low-key," Saul promised. "But we need to move now."

He already knew that Danny wasn't going to argue with that. But even as Danny was nodding, he was looking at Saul sharply. "Something you're not telling me, Saul?" he asked softly.

"Something I hadn't told you yet," he corrected. "Patrick is an informer. There's a mob boss looking for him. They got some info from the phone number. They might be close."

Danny only nodded, and his fear for Rusty grew impossibly more. "Right. So we need to get to Rusty before..." He trailed off for a long moment, his eyes unfocused.

Saul waited, and right about now was usually the time when Danny would turn to Rusty with an inexplicable half sentence, and something impossible would fall into place.

"Patrick doesn't know where we are," Danny said at last, looking up at them fearfully.

"No," Saul agreed slowly.

"All this time he's been keeping in touch with you, right? Telling you what he's doing." Danny paused. "What's he going to do if he can't?"

Danny was right. All this time, Patrick had been sending messages. He wouldn't just have stopped. Whatever he'd been doing to Rusty since the warehouse, he'd want Saul to know about it. And if he thought that Saul wasn't listening, he'd make it all that bit worse. If he'd phoned and Saul hadn't answered, or worse, if he'd told Saul to go somewhere and Saul hadn't shown...

"We need to head to my apartment," he said tightly. "Now."

"Right," Bobby nodded, and immediately Danny started struggling out of bed.

Walt, who had been silent all through the story, started forwards. "Oh, no. You're staying right where you are for at least a few days."

"I need to go with them," Danny insisted stubbornly.

"Stay with Walt, Danny," Saul told him firmly.

"But Rusty - "Danny began.

" - you need to stay here," Saul said, and he sighed at the look in Danny's eyes. "You need to stay here," he said again, more gently. "I know how you feel." For a second he thought Danny would argue. "Believe me, I know. But you're hurt and we don't know _what _we're walking into. If it all goes bad, you think you're going to be able to run?"

From the look on Danny's face, if it all went bad, he had no intention of running. Not without Rusty.

Saul nodded. "And how do you think Rusty's gonna feel _when _we get him back, if I've let you get killed trying to help him?"

Danny closed his eyes for a moment. "You don't play fair, Saul."

"I never saw the point," Saul answered. "If you were healthy right now, we wouldn't be having this discussion. You would be coming with us, no question. But right now, you need to stay here. Alright?"

It wasn't alright. Saul could see that Danny found it very far from alright. But he was going along with it at least, and even though he'd meant what he'd said, Saul was still so relieved that Danny at least was out of harm's way.

"We will call as soon as we have news," he promised and they left quickly.

* * *

There was a strong sense of deja vu as they reached his apartment door and Bobby drew his gun and motioned him to step back. A part of Saul was actually hoping that Patrick would be there, waiting for him. They would have a chance to deal with him, that way at least. And they could _make _him tell them where Rusty was. As time went on, Saul kept wondering if maybe the warehouse had been his one shot. Maybe he'd blown it already.

He kept a pace behind Bobby as they searched the apartment briskly. Nothing. No sign that anyone had been here.

But the light on the answering machine was blinking madly.

Two messages. Looked like Patrick hadn't wasted any time.

Whatever he'd done to Rusty...if Rusty was still alive...he was about to find out.

He swallowed hard and looked across at Bobby for a long moment before hitting play. The tension was wound tight in his stomach.

Seconds later an unfamiliar voice rang out. "Hi there Mr Bloom, this is Nigel calling to find out if you would be interested in buying a subscription to New Life magazine. Call me back on - "

He actually snorted with laughter. It was just so stupid.

Bobby shook his head and then the next message was playing and everything else faded away.

"Hi, Saul," Patrick said breathily. "I would have thought you'd be home by now. Are you there?" Silence and then Patrick was talking, a little further away, as if he wasn't speaking directly into the receiver. "I guess Daddy's not in. Do you think he stopped at the bar on the way home? I suppose after seeing _you _he might have needed a drink."

Patrick was talking to Rusty. And at least that meant that Rusty was _alive..._Unless that was what Patrick wanted them to think.

And Rusty said nothing. Maybe he couldn't.

Saul's fists were clenched tight. He kept listening.

"Oh, come on now, what's the matter," Patrick scolded. "Don't you _want _to talk to Daddy? You are his favourite son, after all. He proved that _very _nicely."

Bobby looked over at him sharply. In his head, Saul's hands were around Patrick's neck, and he was squeezing and he wasn't going to let go until Patrick was good and dead.

"I'm afraid Rusty's being a little _shy _right now," Patrick said, talking back into the receiver. "But don't worry. I'm having lots of fun. We've been playing a game...he's being a good boy. Just like Danny was." He was speaking to Rusty again. "Danny was _very_ nice to me, you know. You should have seen him kissing my boots. It was quite a sight. Let's see if you can be that as nice as Danny..."

A sudden, sharp crunching sound and a howl of pain.

_Patrick_ howling in pain.

The phone went dead.

Saul bit his lip. God, Rusty could be an idiot sometimes.

As satisfying as it was to think of Patrick in pain, he really doubted that Rusty was going to win that fight. And what Patrick would do next didn't bear thinking about.

"He didn't mention Danny was alive," Bobby said after a second.

No. And Saul wasn't absolutely certain whether that was because Patrick was trying to keep it from Rusty, or if he'd managed to persuade himself that everything was still going his way.

"There was no instructions," he said. "Nothing we missed." And that left them no further forwards.

"Alright," Bobby sighed. "Time to go door to door. I need to call the cops in. We can cover as much ground as possible before - "

Unexpectedly, the phone started ringing again.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Yes, yes, two days late. I'm sorry. **

* * *

Saul stared at the phone for a long, blinking fearful second. Patrick calling back. Had to be, surely. Patrick calling back ready to tell him exactly what he'd done to Rusty, ready to make him listen to Rusty _scream._

There had to be something...Patrick had wanted to meet him face to face before, and that hadn't gone the way he'd planned it. Surely he'd want to try again. Surely they'd have another chance.

He snatched up the receiver. "Yes?" he demanded anxiously.

A long silence.

"Is someone there...?" he said, more gently. "...Rusty?" He whispered, and he didn't dare to hope and he didn't dare not to.

Bobby's hand clutched his arm tightly, warningly.

It wasn't impossible. Maybe Rusty had managed to escape. It wouldn't be the first unthinkable thing he'd seen Rusty do. Or maybe...or maybe Patrick was trying to make Rusty talk to him. Trying to make Rusty beg him like he had so long ago on the tape.

No matter, he wanted it to be Rusty. More than anything, he wanted it to be Rusty.

A short, breathless sob. "Saul?" a woman's voice asked, trembling and exhausted and terrified. "I'm looking for Saul."

Not Rusty. Definitely not Rusty, but the voice was familiar and he couldn't quite place it.

"I'm Saul," he admitted, aware of Bobby's frown. "What's wrong?"

"This is Ruby," she said after a second, sounding like she was struggling to get the words out. "Y-you came by my place the other night...looking...looking for your sons. You showed me pictures of some men. Mike and Dirk. You were looking for them."

"I remember," he said, keeping his voice as gentle and patient as he could. "What's happened, Ruby?"

"I didn't know who else to call," she said, talking faster now, stumbling over her words blindly. "I have some information for you. Mike came into the club. I...I...oh, God, I'm hurt bad. Please help me. _Please._"

He gripped the phone tight, horror racing through him. "Tell me where you are," he told her quickly.

"The parking lot past the garage on Ninth and Hanover," she said. "I think they're looking for me. He said...he said..." She broke off into frantic sobbing.

"Your daughter, Lizzie," he began. "Is she safe?"

"She's here," she managed to say. "She's with me. We need to get out of here. Please, I have information. It could help you."

"We'll be right there," Saul promised.

Another long second. "_Really?_" she breathed, like she hadn't dared hope that he'd actually help.

Saul tried not to think of what - _who _- that reminded him of.

"I give my word," he said softly.

The phone was dead.

He laid the phone down and turned to Bobby urgently. "We need to leave. Right now."

"That was Ruby?" Bobby checked.

"Yeah," he nodded impatiently. "She's hurt. She's found something out from Mike." She'd found something...investigated because he'd asked her to, because she'd felt sorry for him, because she'd wanted to help, and she'd got hurt.

"She _says_ she's hurt," Bobby said pointedly. "She _says _she knows something."

Saul froze. "You think it's a trap?" he demanded incredulously. He'd heard Ruby's voice. Heard the terror and the pain. She hadn't even tried to hide it.

"She said everything that would make you come running," Bobby said, staring at him. "If they got her snooping around, maybe Patrick figured she was a good way to flush you out."

Maybe. Saul could see how that might happen. Not like Patrick was above hurting women, children even. He could have made Ruby phone Saul without even breaking a sweat.

He nodded. "If it is a trap, it's still our best shot."

Bobby grimaced, obviously thinking that walking into a trap wasn't much of a plan.

"Could you honestly leave her?" Saul added, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Bobby admitted instantly. "Not in a million years."

"Well then," he shrugged. "We go."

* * *

They made a couple of quick phonecalls before they left the apartment. To Walt; to check on Danny and to let him know he might have another patient; and to Molly so that someone knew where they were going if it all went bad.

He considered telling Walt where they were going so that Walt could keep Danny up to date. But no. He didn't trust that Danny wouldn't follow. Danny had been left with his thoughts and his imagination, and no way to help, and he'd be going out of his mind by now. Rusty missing...it just wasn't a situation that Danny had any way of dealing with.

And normally he'd want Danny here. Hell, he _did _want Danny here, he just wanted Danny healed more. And Danny dragging himself out of bed to follow them wasn't going to make that happen any faster.

It was only because Danny trusted _him _that he was staying put at all.

God, where was Rusty right now? What was happening? He hated the look he'd seen in Rusty's eyes before, at the warehouse. Blank and traumatised and terrified, and now Rusty was alone, tortured and grieving...

There was something else he didn't want to face. Rusty thought Danny was dead.

Rusty wasn't going to be trying to escape.

Right now, if Rusty was given a choice between freedom and even the slightest chance of hurting Patrick, he'd choose Patrick every time. No matter what the consequences.

They had to get there before Rusty threw his life away.

"Can I ask you something?" Bobby began, his eyes fixed on the road.

He had a feeling that he knew where this was going. And he really didn't want to talk about it. Not to Bobby, not to anyone. "What Patrick said, right?" he asked woodenly, and he wasn't looking at Bobby either.

"Yeah," Bobby agreed. "Saul – "

" –it's not true," he interrupted. "Not the way he meant. He..." He swallowed. "He threatened them. Watched my reaction. Rusty was..." He shuddered, remembering the familiar hell in Rusty's eyes. "More vulnerable."

And sometime soon, God willing, he was going to have to look into Rusty's eyes and explain all that. And he could only pray that Rusty forgave him.

"I didn't mean to," he whispered, staring blindly out the window and the guilt for the betrayal, for all of this was wrapped tight around him and he'd never be free of it.

"Bastard," Bobby spat harshly.

Saul looked round quickly, shocked, and it was a long, cold moment before Bobby met his eyes.

"Patrick," Bobby clarified quickly. "I meant Patrick. Making you choose." His hands were clenched tight around the steering wheel. "Bastard."

Yeah. "We'll deal with him," he promised. Once they had Rusty back.

They stopped the car in an alley opposite the parking lot.

"Can't see anything," Bobby commented tersely, peering into the darkness.

No. There was no sign of anyone watching. No hint that anyone else was staking the place out. And time was ticking away and he'd promised Ruby he'd help. "Come on," he whispered, getting out of the car.

"Can't see her either," Bobby added as they skirted around the edge of the parking lot.

"She was hurt and scared and she had her kid with her," Saul pointed out. "She'll be hiding."

And still he wasn't quite convinced that Patrick wasn't going to suddenly appear, wasn't suddenly going to be standing round the next corner holding a knife to Rusty's throat.

They searched silently among the parked cars, not quite willing to call out, not quite certain who else might hear.

"Saul?" It was a frightened whisper and he froze and turned round slowly.

He could just see her, peering out from beneath a car. "Ruby?" He crouched down. "Come on out of there."

She stayed put, looking up at him distrustfully, and he couldn't see her face properly. "Is it safe? Are you alone?"

"There's just me and Bobby here," he assured her. "It's okay. You're safe now."

She laughed wildly. "I'm not safe. They're looking for me. Harvey's gonna kill me. And fuck knows what he'll do to Lizzie. I had a job and a life and I threw it all away and I don't even know you! I'm so _stupid._" Her voice rose sharply and cracked at the last word and she sounded like she was at the very end of her tether.

He knelt down a little closer, sure that she could see him. "We'll keep you safe," he told her, and he meant it.

For a long second she just stared at him. Then she carefully crawled out, clutching her daughter's hand all the while.

For the first time Saul saw her face in the light and his breath caught.

Her left eye was swollen shut, her cheek was slashed and torn, her mouth was bruised and cut and she was hunched over, clearly unable to stand up straight.

"Do you _promise?_" she said, her voice soft and child-like, and Lizzie was pressed close into her mother's side, looking up at them silently, her face young and bewildered.

He nodded, and he didn't look away for a second.

Very, very quietly Ruby burst into tears.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: At present I estimate there's about five chapters left to go. This is _not _just to please InSilva.**

* * *

Hoping he was doing the right thing, he reached out and patted her gently on the shoulder. "There, there," he murmured comfortingly, and inside he grimaced at the cliche. "You're going to be alright now."

"We've got a place you'll be safe for the moment," Bobby added, stepping forwards. "It's not far. There's a doctor there. He can get you fixed up. You can get Lizzie some food and get to bed. That sound okay?"

She nodded, but she was still crying.

Saul glanced quickly at Bobby. Part of him wanted to demand that she tell them everything right now. The rest wanted to _help _her.

"Let's get back to the car," he suggested. "Ruby, can you walk?" She nodded, biting her lip, and took a wobbly step forwards. Saul had to grab her arm quickly to steady her. "Lean on me," he ordered her gently.

Bobby stepped forwards and scooped Lizzie up into his arms. "Come on, kiddo," he said gruffly. "Let's get you to bed."

She regarded him wisely for a moment and then snuggled down into his arms. "Who're you?" she asked sleepily.

"We're friends of your Mom's," Bobby said easily, starting to walk back towards the car. Saul followed, his arm carefully around Ruby's waist, supporting as much of her weight as he could. She was barely conscious, he thought. Whatever had happened, it was all just a little too much.

"Mommy's crying," Lizzie told Bobby worriedly. "And she's got an owie."

"I know," Bobby said seriously. "But we're going to a doctor and she's going to be just fine. So don't you worry."

Lizzie nodded. "Doctor's 'spensive."

There was a slight pause. "Not this doctor," Bobby said finally, reassuringly.

They reached the car and Saul got Ruby settled in the backseat.

She blinked up at him. "You don't need to call a doctor," she told him. "I'll be fine, honestly, if I can just get some rest. I don't want to owe you any more...I mean, you've already done more than anyone else ever has."

It was his fault she was hurt at all. But he understood about pride and not wanting to take charity. "The doctor's already there," he told her. "Walt's a friend of ours. He's there looking after Danny."

"Your son?" It almost hurt to see the hope in her eyes. She didn't even _know _the boys. "You got them back?"

He swallowed. "Danny. Patrick still has Rusty."

"Oh." She reached out and took his hand timidly, as though she was trying to comfort _him,_ and when she spoke it was tremulous and hesitant. "I think...I think I might have the address."

He stared at her for a long moment and countless questions were flooding through his head, and more than that, far more than that, he was gripped with the need to find out _exactly _where and to charge off, regardless of consequences.

Except that wasn't an option right at the moment. He took a deep breath. However it felt, they needed to get Ruby and Lizzie to Walt first of all. And they needed a plan, they couldn't just run in blindly, no matter how tempting it was. That'd be a sure way to get Rusty killed. And, come to think of it, they really should check the address against the rest of the information they had. They couldn't afford any wild goose chases.

He smiled at her reassuringly. "When we get you to the safe house," he said.

She nodded and he shut the car door and walked round to where Bobby was standing, Lizzie still in his arms having apparently fallen asleep.

"You hear?" he asked Bobby in a low voice.

"Don't get your hopes up," Bobby warned, but his eyes were shining with desperate hope.

After all this time the thought that they might be on the brink of getting Rusty back...the hope was almost _painful. _

"You want to drive or hold the kid?" Bobby asked him abruptly.

Saul blinked at him. Hold the...

"We don't have a child seat and she's too small to sit safely with a seatbelt," Bobby explained, actually looking amused. "And Ruby's hurt so she shouldn't do it."

Oh. Well, Bobby looked _perfectly _comfortable with the child in his arms. "I will drive," he decided firmly.

Bobby _still _looked amused. "Thought so," he said.

They got into the car and Saul drove off. It wasn't often that he wondered what it would be like if the boys really _were _his. But seeing Bobby holding the kid, comfortable in a way he just never would be...it set him wondering again. Like in the motel before. Like, as painful as it was to admit it, when Patrick had been reminiscing about Benny.

Mostly he remembered how lucky he was to have found them at all.

The drive only took about ten minutes. Thankfully there wasn't much traffic at this time of night. Still he kept the speed down. Being arrested right now would be completely disastrous.

The safehouse and they parked and he helped Ruby inside as Bobby walked behind them carrying Lizzie.

Walt met them in the doorway, looking as reassuring and reliable as always. The man never seemed to age. "Good to see you again," he said, looking at Saul and Bobby, relieved.

Danny appeared in the bedroom doorway behind him and Saul frowned. Danny's face was flushed and his eyes were a little glassy. He looked worse than when they left. And still Saul smiled the moment he saw him.

"And this must be the young lady you told me about," Walt continued, smiling warmly at Ruby. "I'm Walt, friendly neighbourhood doctor extraordinaire at your service. These reprobates asked me to take a look at you. Is that alright?"

She hung back hesitantly. "Lizzie - "

" - your daughter? Is she hurt?" Walt asked urgently.

"No, no." She shook her head. "But I don't want her to _see._"

"Perfectly understandable," Walt nodded. "Why don't Saul and Bobby look after her in the other room for a while? Would that be okay?"

She took a step closer to Saul "Yes..." she said after a second. "But can Saul come with me?"

He wasn't sure that was exactly appropriate. But she was looking at Walt and it wasn't exactly fear and it wasn't exactly mistrust...but it could easily turn into both. If Saul being there made her even a bit more comfortable then he could do that. He could always - _would _always - turn his head. "Okay," he agreed. "If that's what you want."

She smiled at him thankfully. "I can tell you about Mike at the same time," she added. "If that's alright, that is?"

"Mike?" Danny asked sharply, his eyes fixed on her face.

"We got an address to check out," Bobby told him. "I'm going to check it on the map. Ruby, what is it?"

"1156 Moll Street," Ruby said quickly.

"If we know the address, why aren't we there?" Danny demanded.

"Because we need to know as much as possible," Bobby said patiently. "You know that. We need to be sure and we need backup. I know how you feel, but we're going to take care of it, Danny."

Danny didn't look like he was prepared to accept that. But Walt was ushering Ruby into the other room and Saul followed quickly, leaving Bobby with Danny and Lizzie.

"Where are you hurt, my dear?" Walt asked when the door closed behind them, and he was already rummaging through his little black bag.

"Well, my face," she began hesitantly. "But you can see that. My chest and wrist hurt too."

"Okay, let's take a look," Walt said gently.

Saul averted his gaze as she took her top off. "You were going to tell me what happened?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Mike came into the club tonight. He asked for me, like he always does. He seemed...upset about something. Angry, I guess. He was drinking a whole lot more'n usual. And when I was dancing for him he was rougher than usual. His hands were everywhere."

Her voice shook slightly and he bit his lip. "You shouldn't have to put up with that."

"I'm used to it, or I should be," she said, matter of factly. "Rex - the bouncer - is supposed to stop them touching us, but as long as they're paying good money, Harvey tells him to turn a blind eye. But Mike wouldn't stop, and I tried to give you a call when I got away from him for a moment, but there was no answer and I didn't want to risk leaving a message."

"I'm sorry," Saul said, grimacing. He should have given her Molly's number too. Should have made sure there was someone there to take the call. Only he hadn't _really _been expecting it. He hadn't thought that Mike would go to the club. And the anger and the upset...that was because of Dirk, he thought. Because Dirk was dead. And that made this even more Saul's fault.

"Can you lift your arms up for me a moment?" Walt interrupted, his tone patient and professional. "That's good, thank you. Now take a deep breath in...and out..._that's _it. Mmmm."

"Is everything okay?" Saul asked sharply.

"Yes," Walt answered, addressing Ruby, not Saul. "Looks like nothing's broken but you've got some impressive bruising. I wouldn't try running any marathons anytime soon."

"Don't think I'm going to be doing much other than running anytime soon," Ruby answered, sounding exhausted. "Anyway, she added with false brightness. "Mike paid for another lap dance and while I was doing that I noticed he had his wallet hanging out of his jeans pocket. I thought...I figured maybe he'd have his address on his driver's license or something. Something that you could use to get your kids back. So...I took it." She sounded guilty and desperate and surprised at her own daring.

Saul found it difficult to believe she'd actually done that. And he hadn't asked her to this, and all he could manage to say was a soft "Thank you."

"I'd never done anything like that before," she went on and Saul nodded, unsurprised. She didn't seem the type. "I managed to hide it on the back of the booth behind his head while I was dancing. Then...when we were done...I picked it up and ran off into the back room."

"That was well thought," he said and it was. Because there wasn't a whole lot of hiding places in what she was wearing so the fact that she'd actually managed to keep it hidden...he was impressed. "And you took the address from the license?" he asked, trying to keep from sounding disappointed. Even if it was up to date, Mike's address probably wouldn't do them much good.

"No," she said quickly. "There was a piece of paper stuffed in the side. It was all crumpled. I guess he'd just stuffed it back in there when he was finished with it. But it said Patrick Knight, and it had the address on it and a phone number. I...I'm afraid I didn't get the number. I'm sorry."

"You got the address," he said, warmly and sincerely. "That's so much more than I could ever hope for. Thank you, Ruby."

"Oh..." She sounded flustered. "Oh, it was nothing."

Only that wasn't true. "How did you get hurt?" he asked her gently.

She hesitated for a long moment. "I was planning on handing the wallet into Rex," she said at last. "Telling him I'd just found it on the floor. I figured Mike would think he'd just dropped it. I mean, I didn't touch the money or nothing. But I guess he noticed it was missing sooner than I thought he would. He came charging into the backroom, screaming at me, and Rex was right behind, yelling at him. Until they saw me with the wallet in my hand. Then they were both after me. Rex started shouting for Harvey, and I tried...I tried to run, but I couldn't get past them and Mike punched me in the face and I fell," she said in a dull voice.

Anger, guilt and pity. All at once. "Oh, Ruby," he said helplessly. "I'm so sorry."

"They took me out into the back alley," she went on, like she hadn't heard him. "The three of them. They wouldn't stop shouting. And they hit me...they hurt me so _much. _I was on the ground...I thought I was going to die, and there would be no one left to look after Lizzie. I was so _scared. _And then Rex pulled me up, and Harvey said he was going to show me what happened to thieving whores, and I just _screamed _at him. I told him I wasn't a whore. I'm _not, _Saul. And he laughed and shoved me back against the wall, pulled my skirt up, and, oh, god, he pulled out thisknife..."

He responded to the raw, wretched fear in her voice, turning round instinctively and laying a hand on her bare shoulder, and she threw herself into his arms and sobbed. God, she was just a kid. She didn't deserve to be treated like that. No one did.

"I managed to get away," she went on, her voice muffled and indistinct and she was talking faster and faster. "I don't even know how. I kicked him, and I scratched his face, and I screamed, and somehow I got away and I ran. I didn't even know I could run that fast."

She sniffled a little and rubbed her face with the back of her arm. Walt quietly held out a tissue and Saul took it with a thankful nod and passed it to her.

"Thank you," she said, briefly lifting her head and smiling up at him bravely. "I managed to get back home without being followed, but I knew they'd come looking, so I just hauled Lizzie out of bed and ran again. I...I didn't know what to do. I don't have anywhere to go. Mom doesn't want to know...she's never even _seen_Lizzie, you know. And all my friends are in the club, and they're not gonna want to go against Harvey. He's...he's a bad man. A monster. He's not going to let me go. Oh, god he's never going to let me go."

"It's alright," he said, rubbing her arm. "You're safe now. I'm going to keep you safe, I promise."

He didn't expect her to believe him. After all, they'd _met _because he'd let Rusty and Danny get hurt. But to his surprise she smiled up at him, her eyes shining. "Thank you, Saul."


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: Happy Monday. That is all.**

* * *

After a moment Walt coughed politely and Saul stepped back and let him finish treating Ruby.

"There," Walt said cheerfully after a few moments. "All done. Let me just get you some more analgesia, okay? You'll need to get plenty of rest and I don't want you using that arm anytime soon."

"Okay," she nodded sleepily, as he brought out a syringe and carefully gave her the shot. "Let me just get my clothes back on, an' then I'll get Lizzie and I'll be out of your hair."

Walt shot Saul a look that was two parts concern and one part disapproval.

Honestly, it wasn't like that was _his _idea of a good plan either. "You should stay here, Ruby," he told her gently. "For tonight at the very least." He hesitated. "Unless you have somewhere else you want to go."

"No..." she shook her head. "There's nothing for us in New York now. Saul, are you _sure?_"

"Of course," he said, almost indignant. He was not in the habit of putting children out onto the street.

"I said you should get lots of rest," Walt added with a smile. "Go against doctor's orders and you don't get a lollipop."

She giggled slightly. "Okay, then. I'll stay. I need to go find Lizzie."

She walked out the room and Saul turned to Walt with a frown. "She's really alright?" he asked.

"Yes, she'll be fine," Walt promised.

That was good.

"Let her down gently, will you?" Walt added, busying himself tidying his medical bag.

Saul blinked. Let her down...? "What?" he asked, when he was convinced that Walt wasn't going to elaborate.

Walt looked up at him and sighed. "Ruby. She's a nice kid and she's much too young for you."

"There's nothing like that," he said at once, indignantly. "She's still a child. For God's sake, Walt, don't be ridiculous."

"Uh huh." Walt gazed at him. "You might want to let her know that. Because she looks at you like you're her own personal white knight."

Oh, this was still completely ridiculous. He wasn't young, he wasn't handsome...and he remembered a couple of looks he'd noticed. Remembered the way her eyes shone.

Oh, _hell._

Still, he had other things to worry about right at this moment in time. He took a deep breath. "Danny - "

" - he's got a fever," Walt cut in understandingly. "It's nothing to seriously worry about, and it's not exactly unexpected. He's injured, he's not been in the most sanitary conditions, throw in a touch of dehydration and malnutrition...his immune system is struggling a little, that's all. I've started him on antibiotics." He grimaced. "It would be better if he'd stay in bed but unfortunately I'm not as persuasive as you. I was going to sedate him again, but he had some strenuous objections to that idea. I didn't want to do it without his permission. Not unless I have to, anyway." He laughed. "Apart from anything else, he's fifty years younger than me and I'm not up to anything undignified. You need to talk to him, Saul."

He nodded and he wasn't exactly sure he was going to have much more luck persuading Danny this time. He sighed. "Thank you, Walt," he said gratefully. "I'll get you your - "

" - Saul?" Walt interrupted levelly. "You even think about mentioning money to me right now, I'm going to take it as an insult."

Right. He'd avoid doing that for the moment then. "I'd better go see how Bobby's getting on," he said.

He found Bobby in the living room, surrounded by street maps and staring at a set of hand drawn floor plans. He looked up at Saul quickly. "The street address checks out to Brownville," he said quickly. "East side of the street, near the railway track, right in the middle of the area we thought...I'm as certain as I need to be, Saul."

Saul nodded. "Ruby got the address from Mike's wallet," he told Bobby. "A scrap of paper with Patrick's name on. I'm sold."

"She took Lizzie through to the kitchen," Bobby commented. "She'd asked for something to eat. I told her to help herself to as much as she wanted." A shadow crossed his face. "She took some persuading I meant it." He shook his head tightly. "Danny went with them. He'll make sure they get whatever they want."

"Good," he said simply. He frowned down at the plans. "He talked you through these? This the house?"

"Yeah," Bobby agreed. "Don't know anything about upstairs, and as far as I can tell there's only one door."

Which wasn't good. He stared at them thoughtfully, looking for inspiration.

Bobby grimaced apologetically. "We're going to need to get the cops involved. I can't see any help for it. If I'm with them to neutralise Patrick and Mike, if he's there - "

" - then I can sneak in and get Rusty out while they're distracted," Saul finished. "It's still the middle of the night. If we're lucky, Patrick will be upstairs asleep and Rusty will be in the...basement." He shivered a little at the thought. Still. Easy in and easy out. He tapped his finger against the drawing of the kitchen window. "There?"

"There," Bobby agreed. He stood up. "I'll phone it in. Say I've got an anonymous tip for the address, and a warning Patrick may have a hostage. That should discourage indiscriminate shooting anyway."

That was what they wanted to avoid at all costs. And it looked like this was their best hope. He stood up too. "I need to have a quick word with Danny," he said, heading for the door.

They were almost there. In his head, he asked Rusty to hang on just a little longer.

His hand was on the door handle when he heard a commotion coming from the hallway, right at the front door. He froze for a second, trying to make sense of who and what.

Danny's voice. And Ruby's.

"Get out of the way," Danny was saying insistently. "I've got to go find Rusty. He needs me."

"I don't think you should be going anywhere," Ruby said, sounding like she was trying to be firm. "You don't look well. And I'm sure your Dad wouldn't like it."

"Saul's not my Dad," Danny said shortly and Saul _heard _Ruby's soft gasp. He tried to persuade himself it didn't hurt. After all, it was nothing less than the truth. And he almost didn't hear Danny's next words, Danny's voice was so slow and soft. "He's my brother's Dad..." A brief pause and now Danny sounded frantic again. "I've got to get to Rusty. Move out of the way. _Please._"

Saul opened the door quickly. "You're not going anywhere, Daniel," he said, and Ruby looked relieved to see him while Danny looked at him obstinately. "I need you to go back to your room, lie down and get some rest."

Danny laughed humourlessly. "That's not gonna happen. I _know _the address now, Saul. I heard her say it. That's where Rusty is, and do you really think I'm going to sit and - "

" - yes!" Saul cut in insistently. "We've been through this, Danny. You're not nearly recovered enough for any of this. I'm not going to put you in a position to get yourself killed."

"I'm _fine,_" Danny lied wildly.

Saul looked at him. His arm was braced against the wall, taking as much weight as possible off his feet. Thankfully, he hadn't tried to put his shoes on, and he was standing with his feet twisted beneath them, so that as little of his soles as possible came into contact with the carpet. There were bruises covering every single bit of skin that Saul could see, and beneath that he looked hot and flushed and feverish.

Fine. Yeah, right. Not even close. "Always try to keep at least the _possibility _of truth in your lies, Danny," he said gently.

"Rusty needs me," Danny whispered, soft and broken.

"Yes he does," Saul agreed, without the slightest hesitation. "And I'm going to bring him back. Bobby's calling the cops right now. They're going to raid the house. And while Patrick and Mike are busy with them, I'll slip in and get Rusty. We've got a plan, Danny. We'll be back before you know it."

Danny blinked glassily. "What about Dirk?"

Oh. He supposed Danny hadn't been very coherent at that point. Ruby was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, leaning against the door. Saul didn't look at her. "Dirk's dead," he told Danny evenly, and prayed that there'd be no more questions right now.

"Oh." Danny took a deep breath. "Rusty thinks I'm dead."

"I'll tell him you're not," Saul said understandingly because Rusty needed to hear that as soon as possible.

"He'll want to go after Patrick," Danny went on.

Yeah. Saul was quite sure he would. "I won't let him," he promised. "I'm not going to let either of you do _anything _that'll put you in danger right now, you hear me?"

Danny bit his lip. "I could just wait in the car," he offered.

Saul tried not to laugh. "No you couldn't," he pointed out gently. "Neither could I." Waiting in the car, knowing that Rusty was inside the house, afraid and in danger? That just wasn't within the realm of possibility. He sighed. "Look at me, Danny," he instructed, and he waited until Danny obeyed. "Do you really think there's anything that you would do to get Rusty back that I wouldn't do?"

There was a long, long moment. And Saul held his breath for every second.

Finally, Danny shook his head. "No," he said in a whisper.

Saul exhaled heavily. "Good," he said. "There isn't." Bobby was standing in the hall behind him, obviously ready to go. He managed to smile at Danny. "Stay here, listen to Walt and look after Ruby and Lizzy," he instructed. "We'll bring Rusty back soon."

He could only hope he was telling the truth.


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: Pretty sure that there's three chapters left after this one. For those who like to be kept informed of such things.**

* * *

Bobby was driving and for a while there was tense silence.

They'd swung by Jacques' quickly, at Bobby's insistence. Picked up another gun for Saul, since Patrick had taken the first one he acquired.

He hoped he didn't have to use it.

He _hoped _that it would just be a case of sneaking in and getting Rusty while the cops took Patrick down.

But if Patrick got in his way, well. He wouldn't hesitate for a second.

Jacques had been worried and anxious and he'd offered to lend them a couple of his people. They'd been tempted, naturally, but Bobby was acting legitimately, and Saul knew that one person breaking into a house was less noticeable than a group, and most of all, they'd have had to wait for Jacques' men to get there.

No more waiting. Not if he had anything to say about it.

"Ruby," Bobby said suddenly, and for a moment Saul wondered if he was about to get another talk about inappropriate relationships. "She...when I told her to eat whatever she wanted from the kitchen. She had this _look _on her face. Like she didn't trust that I wasn't going to make her pay for it somehow."

Yeah. Saul had seen a little of that too, when he'd told her they were getting her to a doctor. And he understood that. When you had nothing, even charity had a price and pride was often the least of it.

But that wasn't what Bobby was leading up to here. He waited.

"The first couple of times I met Danny and Rusty, Rusty had the same look," Bobby said at last. "Danny too, but not as much. Like I'd begrudge them a lousy pizza or some burgers. Like it was all being added up and they'd need to account for it sometime."

That didn't surprise him. Even now, Rusty regarded unconditional kindness as the exception, rather than the rule. And Saul might sigh over the lessons life had taught him, but it wasn't as if he exactly disagreed.

"They understand now," he reminded Bobby quietly. Wasn't as if he was the only one who'd worked to teach the boys that there were other people who could be trusted, who could be relied on.

And he carefully ignored the small part of his soul that was screaming at Bobby for not acting. They'd had that conversation before. He knew how deeply Bobby's regret ran.

"Here," he said, looking out the window sharply. They were about a half block from the house.

Bobby pulled over and Saul opened the door.

"If there's any sign that anyone's in there, wait until you hear us move," Bobby reminded him fiercely.

He nodded. He'd certainly _try. _"See you soon," he said, and he ran off into the night.

From the outside the house looked normal enough. Like any of the others on the street surrounding. He supposed some part of him had been expecting more overt. Not Dracula's castle, not quite at least, but some outward sign that this was a place of fear and pain and horror.

There weren't any lights, and that was good. Maybe they'd get lucky and the cops would arrest Patrick in his bed while Saul and Rusty sneaked back out the window.

He tried not to consider the possibility that the lights weren't on because no one was there. Because Patrick had gotten spooked and moved Rusty somewhere else, or because the Mob had got there first. Right now, he had to cling to his hope. It was damn near all he had.

He hoped too that Rusty wasn't anymore hurt than he had been in the warehouse. Patrick hadn't had him for too much longer, after all. And there'd been no new tapes or pictures...no taunting messages to let Saul know that Rusty was suffering. Possibly Patrick had other things on his mind and Rusty was doing okay, physically at least.

There was no way he could make that hope convincing.

Hidden in the shadows at the side of the house he waited, watching as the cops quietly gathered. Bobby would be taking charge, he knew. No matter what the chain of command was supposed to be, Bobby would be making sure he was in control and that everyone knew to follow his lead.

Looked like they were moving into position. And that meant Saul had to move now.

Silently, he vanished back around to the rear of the house. The kitchen window opened easily under his fingers.

The bitter taste of adrenaline flooded his mouth.

_Almost. _

The inside of the house was dark and he stood for a long moment, letting his eyes adjust and listening for any sign of life, for any sign that he'd been heard.

There was nothing. And yet the house didn't _feel _empty, somehow. And that sort of instinct wasn't to be relied on, but it wasn't to be ignored either.

He looked round the kitchen slowly. This was where Patrick had left Danny handcuffed all night. This was where Patrick had humiliated him, handfed him...he shook his head quickly, fighting off memory and imagination and nausea. Not what he was here for. Vengeance could come later; right now he had to find Rusty.

He stole out into the hall, moving as silently as he ever had, past the narrow staircase and the two rooms on the right. The door to the basement loomed in front of him and he was hardly breathing. This was it.

Cautiously, he felt in his pocket and his hand closed around the gun. Slowly, wincing at every sound, he pushed the door open.

It was pitch black and he couldn't even see the stairs leading down, let alone know if Rusty was there. Damnit. A moment of fumbling, praying that no one would notice, that Patrick wasn't down there too, and he found the light switch and the basement was flooded with dull light.

There was no one.

Needing to be sure, he hurried down the stairs, almost gagging from the smell. He could see the pipes, could see, if he looked closely, the grooves where the paint had been scraped away by the constant rubbing of handcuffs. And he could see the discarded bucket and the pile of earth in the corner, the shovel lying next to it...

For a moment he was overcome with dark rage and bitter fury. What Patrick had _done..._He didn't deserve to live.

Taking a deep breath he forced the feelings away again and took another look. No sign of a fresher grave.

And that left him with only one conclusion.

Rusty wasn't _here._

Oh, God, where _was _he?

Saul hurried back upstairs quickly, closing the basement door behind him. If he had his way, he'd board it shut too.

He took another deep breath, needing to calm down, needing to focus all his attention on the here and now.

Right. Two more rooms downstairs to check. He was going to find Rusty. Any minute now, he was going to find Rusty.

He reached out and grabbed the doorhandle to the first room, and froze when he heard a noise coming from inside.

Someone was in there. And, oh God, according to Danny and Bobby's floorplan, this was the room Patrick had shot the tapes in.

Without even pausing to think, he was through the door, prepared for any scene of horror, prepared to shoot first and say sorry later.

For a moment, he thought that he must have heard wrong. For a moment, he thought that the room was empty after all.

There were the chairs he remembered. The camera still set up in front of them. And there was blood sprayed liberally across the carpet, soaked and ground in. An electric iron was lying discarded on one of the chairs, and the chair itself had been turned so the back was to the camera. The little splash of blood there was more red. More fresh.

He didn't know the full story. But he could guess at the edges of the picture. Pain and torture and terror, and Saul didn't have the strength to stifle the moan of agony that escaped his lips.

God. Why had this happened?

There was a soft, answering moan, and Saul turned quickly to see Mike lying down just beside the door, surrounded by broken glass and empty bottles. The smell of whisky was sour in the air and the gun was heavy in Saul's hand.

He remembered watching Mike manhandle them. Remembered the pleasure in his eyes. Remembered what Ruby had told him.

One bullet would make the world a better place.

One bullet would alert Patrick.

One bullet could kill Rusty.

No. Or at least not _yet._ It was obvious that Mike was dead to the world. Saul didn't think he'd wake up if a herd of elephants stampeded through this room. For the moment, he'd just leave him.

But lying next to Mike's arm was another tape, obviously freshly shot, and Saul clenched his jaw and snatched it up off the floor.

He didn't want to know what was on it.

He needed to find Rusty. Now.

Quietly, he closed the door behind him and tried the next room along.

Nothing worth mentioning. Just a grungy-looking sofa, a battered TV and a few magazines and pizza boxes strewn around the floor. Evidently, this was where Patrick, Mike and Dirk spent their downtime.

He was running out of time. Before too long, Bobby and the cops would come through that door, and if they found him, they'd arrest him. And there was only left upstairs to check and he'd presumed that was just bedrooms and -

The sound of a floorboard creaking above his head.

He froze.

Had to be Patrick. Patrick was upstairs in one of the bedrooms, and either he had Rusty there with him or he knew where Rusty was.

Either way, Saul knew what came next.

The gun was in his hand. The safety catch was off. He tiptoed up the narrow staircase.

There was a landing and he paused for a second, staring up at the next set of stairs.

Darkness. No lights upstairs, either. But he'd heard someone move...

Maybe he'd get lucky and surprise Patrick in bed.

He crept upstairs and found himself in a cramped hallway. Danny hadn't been able to tell them anything about the upstairs of the house. Okay, there were three doors. And the noise had come from directly above his head, so that suggested that _this _door was the one he was looking for. He started to push it open, ready for anything.

A frantic, muffled sound behind him.

He spun round, quickly, just as the light snapped on, and he found himself staring at Patrick and Rusty and it was shock and horror and absolute, unbearable agony.

Patrick, with two black eyes and a clearly broken nose, had a gun pressed against Rusty's head, and in his other hand he was holding the end of a dog chain.

Rusty was collared and gagged like Danny had been before, his hands cuffed behind his back, and his body was littered with fresh bruises. There was dried blood caked down the left hand side of his face, and his inner thighs were burnt and blistered. He was completely naked.

Fury howled through Saul like a living thing.

"Hush now," Patrick chided, and he was practically twitching. "Why don't you put your gun down on the ground like a good boy." He ground his gun into Rusty's cheek, punctuating his words viciously. "After all. We. Wouldn't. Want. Anyone. To. Get. Hurt. Now. Would. We."

Rusty wasn't showing any signs of pain. That didn't matter.

He didn't have a choice. There was nothing more important than Rusty. Not now, not ever. He bent and carefully laid the gun on the ground.

"I saw the cops outside, Saul. That was a gutsy decision." Patrick's smile was twisted and _wrong_. "I'd hoped to make this last longer," he went on. "I wanted to make the remainder of your life a living hell, like you did to me." He giggled. "Still, I guess I did, didn't I? Time to say goodbye."

He turned the gun on Saul.

He tried to prepare himself. Wasn't like he was afraid. He didn't want to die, but this wasn't the worst that could happen. If Patrick was about to kill Rusty, he'd do it in front of Saul. He'd have done it already. In all probability, he wanted a hostage, just in case. And Bobby would hear the shot, and Saul thought that might just be their best chance for Rusty to live through all this.

It all happened in less than a second.

He looked at Rusty, ready to apologise, ready to reassure, ready to say goodbye.

Rusty's eyes were wide and desperate and he didn't hesitate. He threw himself against Patrick, shoving into his arm as hard as he could, and there was all the wild, frantic urgency there that Saul had been feeling these last days, and Rusty could no more watch Saul die than the other way round.

Patrick obviously wasn't expecting it. The gun flew out of his hand and, with a shout of surprise and rage, he backhanded Rusty hard in the face, and Rusty fell backwards, hitting his head against the wall.

He fell to the ground, unmoving.

Saul was already lunging forwards towards Patrick, his hands intent on Patrick's throat. He barely recognised his own voice. "I'll kill you, you monster. I'll kill you."

They were fighting. Kicking and punching, and Patrick was taller, stronger, and he was driving Saul back towards the staircase, but Saul wasn't going to stop, not for anything, and Patrick was right up in his face, his expression twisted with rage and insanity, the vein in his forehead prominent and throbbing, the spittle trailing from the side of his mouth. "I want you to _suffer. _For what you did to my boy. My beautiful Benny. You took away his father when he needed me most. Who's the monster here, Saul? Tell me that?"

This. This was what all of this was about. This imagined crime, the reason why Patrick had taken his children, had _tortured _his _children._

It was anger, pure and simple. Anger and fear and hatred and desperation. Every last piece of emotion he'd been feeling since he'd first read that note, since he'd first been plunged into this nightmare. Everything he'd felt when he'd seen their apartment, when he'd found the teeth, when he'd watched the tapes. Everything he'd felt with his arms wrapped around Danny on the warehouse floor. Everything he felt now when he saw Rusty lying, bloodied and unmoving.

He punched Patrick as hard as he could. "I never made you do anything. You think that all happened to Benny just because you weren't there? Or do you think that he just couldn't cope with what his father was. What you had _done. _Take some responsibility. You fucking coward."

Patrick made a noise like a wounded animal, and somewhere below them, Saul was vaguely aware of the sound of the door being kicked in, vaguely aware of shouts as they found Mike, aware of running footsteps, raised voices, but he was taking advantage of Patrick's distraction, punching and kicking, and in a last desperate effort, Patrick threw himself forwards, and they were grappling on the very edge of the staircase for a long moment.

Patrick fell with a brief, muffled scream.

For a second he stared down stupidly, and then he heard the footsteps on the stairs, coming towards the landing where Patrick lay.

He had less than a second and with a brief, agonised glance at where Rusty still lay motionless, he darted through the nearest door, and held it shut, listening.

"We got someone, chief," a cop yelled. "Don't move, you."

"What the fuck just..." Patrick's voice. Sounding muzzy.

"That's him," Bobby confirmed. "Let's get him outside with the other one."

Sounded like Bobby wanted to get the cops away from here as quickly as possible. God, Saul hoped it worked. He just wanted to get Rusty away from here.

"Guess you're one unlucky bastard to fall down the stairs _before _you get into police custody, huh," the cop snorted, and his voice was getting further away. They were taking Patrick out of here. Saul closed his eyes in silent thanks.

"Wait," a new voice broke in. "I think there's someone else up there."

Damn it.

"Yeah," the voice went on. "It's...oh, shit. It's a kid. He must be the hostage. Jesus, that bastard really did a number on him. Call the medics, quick."

"Is he still breathing?" another cop asked quickly.

There was a long, terrible silence and Saul's mouth was dry. No. God, no. Not after everything. "Yeah," the first cop said at last and Saul gave a silent prayer of sheer relief. "But I don't think he's waking up any time soon."

All Saul wanted right now was to run out of the room to Rusty's side. It should be him there, not these cops. They didn't even know Rusty. He should be there.

(_He should be with his son._)

But if he did that, he'd have to explain why he was there at all, and he had no doubt that Patrick would be spreading stories.

He had to stay away, and that was agony.

"You see this collar?" one of the cops said incredulously.

"He's naked too. Jesus. And look at those burns. Guess we know what that sick bastard was into."

Not true, Saul told himself. From everything Patrick had said...there'd been no _suggestion _of anything like that.

He had to leave. As awful as it was, he had to move, now, before they got it in their heads to search the rest of the house. They'd be taking Rusty to hospital...Rusty would be _fine, _they'd just need to find some way to get him out of hospital before the cops started asking too many questions. Bobby would be able to help with that, no doubt.

Rusty would be fine. He was away from Patrick, and he was safe now. That was what mattered.

It was all over now. He could breathe again.

He glanced around the room he was in quickly. Bedroom. There was an iron bedstead and a battered wardrobe and not much else. But there was also a window, and when he glanced out, he could see that the wall below offered _just _enough handholds for him to risk climbing down, wincing every time he felt his foot slip away from him. If he wanted this kind of excitement, he would have become a cat burglar.

Finally, he was on the ground, and unspotted by the police, he sprinted back to the street and made his way back round to the front of the house, hoping to catch Bobby's eye, to let him know that he was alright.

He was just in time to see the ambulance pull up outside. For Rusty. Thank God they hadn't wasted any time at least.

Only...

Somehow, his attention was caught by a dark sedan stopped opposite the house. He could barely see inside the windows, but he had the vaguest impression of someone looking out, staring intently. The engine was idling.

Something was wrong. A lifetime of instinct was screaming at him that something was desperately wrong.

Even as he watched, the window was wound down, and he turned his head in horror to watch as Bobby pulled Patrick towards a waiting police car.

The shot rang out, loud and clear.

The blood sprayed over Bobby's face, and Patrick fell to the ground, as the car roared off.


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: This story is heading rapidly towards some kind of conclusion. I'd like to thank you all for reading so far...now read on! **

* * *

As though the gunshot was a signal, the scene descended into absolute chaos. The few curious onlookers who had ventured out at this time of night to see what all the fuss was about, scattered instantly, fleeing back to whatever looked like safety. Cops ran towards their cars, and a few moments later, two squad cars tore away in hot pursuit. People were shouting, screaming, orders were barked and obeyed and ignored by turn.

Saul had instinctively started running towards the ambulance, towards _Rusty. _Logically, he might know that the bullet had gone nowhere near. That didn't mean that he didn't need to see for himself. Damn it, he should be there. He should be sitting with Rusty in the back of the ambulance, watching over him, protecting him. And the fact that he couldn't was killing him. He forced himself to stop after barely a few steps. Now was not the time to be an unknown face at the crime scene.

This just seemed...he could hardly believe it. He was practically rooted to the spot, watching everything unfurl, helpless to intervene. He'd seen the shot fired. He'd actually watched it happen, and he had no doubt that Patrick was dead and the only part of him that wasn't rejoicing was the part that was sorry he hadn't got to shoot the bastard himself. And God, that made him feel just a little sick.

They'd known they weren't the only ones looking for Patrick. The Mob boss Patrick had sold out...they must have got the address from the records stolen from the answering service. God, that meant that this whole mess had been close. If the Mob had got there before the cops had...maybe if they'd waited for Jacques' men...he doubted they'd have left any survivors.

They still might not, he reminded himself. Could be that Rusty was a target right now. They'd want to get out of town as soon as possible, just to be sure.

As he watched, Bobby stood up abruptly, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his sleeve."He's dead," he called harshly, his voice audible above the rabble. "Get someone to call it. And get that ambulance out of here for God's sake! That kid should have been at the hospital yesterday." His words were sharp and biting and Saul hoped that he could only hear the frustrated depth of personal concern because he was listening for it.

With a feeling of relief, Saul watched the ambulance speed off. Thank God. Rusty would get the medical attention he needed. And there was nothing he could do for Bobby right now, much as he wanted to.

It was time to make himself scarce, before anyone noticed he'd been here at all.

First things first. Danny was waiting. He got three blocks away, found a payphone and dialled the number for the safehouse.

Walt answered almost immediately. "Yeah?" Careful. Guarded. Not going to give any information away until he knew it was safe. Walt might not be in their line of work, but he knew how things were. That was why Saul hadn't hesitated to leave Danny with him.

"It's me," he identified immediately. "Can you put Danny on? It's good news."

Walt breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God. I'll pass the phone over."

A second later and Danny's voice came on the line. "Rusty - "

" - he's safe," Saul promised. "He's been taken to the hospital, but he's going to be alright, Danny."

There was silence and then a sound that might just have been a suppressed sob, and God, he wanted to be with Danny right now, wanted to be able to reassure him and look after him.

"Rusty's safe now," he said again, softly. "It's over."

"Patrick?" Danny asked, obviously managing to get control of himself with an effort.

"Patrick...Patrick isn't going to be hurting anyone anymore," he said carefully.

"He's dead?" Danny checked fiercely.

"Yes," Saul agreed. "He's dead."

There was another pause. "Did you - "

" - no," he interrupted. "No, the Mafia got to him as he was being arrested." Though he would have, if he'd got the chance. On the other hand, so would Danny.

"Is Bobby alright? Are _you_ alright?" Danny asked, quick and anxious.

"Yes," Saul promised with a smile. "We're both fine. I'm going to head round to the hospital. Someone should be there when Rusty wakes up. With any luck, I'll be able to take him home right away." As long as Rusty wasn't too hurt, he could recuperate under Walt's care just as well as in hospital. And that would get him away from cops who'd want to ask questions too.

"Thanks, Saul," Danny said quietly, the exhaustion audible in his voice.

Saul gritted his teeth. "You don't ever need to thank me for this sort of thing, Daniel." Especially not when it was all his fault in the first place. But even if it hadn't been, the idea that he expected _gratitude_ for coming after them when they were in trouble...he'd always be there when they needed him. That was his job.

"Yeah. Well," Danny said, and Saul could picture the stubborn look on his face. And more than that, he knew that Danny suspected he'd overheard his words in the hall earlier. And that was an awkward conversation for another time. "You should go."

He nodded. He should. "Try and get some rest, Danny," he suggested gently. "Rusty will be back soon."

He didn't imagine Danny would take the advice. He seriously doubted that Danny would be able to relax until Rusty was back beside him.

And Saul had every intention of arranging that as soon as possible.

* * *

It took a frustrating couple of hours before he managed to find out exactly where Rusty had been taken. There were a few possible hospitals, and then from there he had to track down the exact ward, and all the time he was trying to keep anyone from noticing that he was asking. Right now, Rusty was a John Doe, and he didn't know whether the cops were looking at him as a victim, a witness or a suspect, but they were going to have questions for anyone who was looking for him. It would have been easier if he could have just asked Bobby, but Bobby was right in the middle of the investigation, trying to keep a lid on things, and Saul didn't want to risk trying to contact him right now.

Eventually, he was directed to the ward and he managed to borrow a janitor's uniform and sneak up.

The place was crawling with cops.

There were three on the main ward floor, and two more stationed in the doorway of the private room Rusty was being held in, and even as he watched, they checked and double-checked the ID badges of two nurses who were trying to walk into the room carrying medication.

Oh, hell. Saul wasn't going to be able to get past them no matter what he did. Not without having something prepared.

"What's going on?" he asked a nurse in the corridor, nodding his head towards the cops and affecting a tone of impersonal curiosity.

"They think one of the patients might be in danger," she told him eagerly. "Some Mafia thing, can you believe it? Apparently he was one guy's hostage, and then another guy killed the first guy, and now the cops need this guy to find out what was going on. It's all on the news! It's so exciting."

He hadn't realised it had made the news already. He supposed it was inevitable, but still. That was all they needed. "Can you believe it," he said with a low whistle. "Is the guy going to be alright?" And saying that with the same air of unconcern might just be one of the hardest acts he'd ever had to pull.

"I think so," she said with a shrug. "I don't really know. He hasn't woke up since they brought him in. I helped get him into bed, and I saw his back. The doctors had already worked on it, but it was still disgusting."

Saul hadn't seen Rusty's back in the house. His mouth was dry, and he stuck his hands in his pockets to hide the trembling. "Disgusting?" he asked, his voice horrifically steady.

She looked mildly guilty. "I shouldn't really say anymore...they haven't even identified him yet, you know. The cops are trying to trace a next of kin now."

That should be him. Him and Danny, anyway. He wanted to be in that room, sitting with Rusty, holding Rusty's hand, making sure Rusty wasn't alone. This wasn't _right_.

"He's so _young_ too," she went on wistfully. "And really, under the bruises, I think he's kind of cute!" she added with a giggle that Saul despised.

He wasn't going to learn anything else here. "Well, I'd better get on," he told her, heading out of the ward with his hands still in his pockets.

If he wanted to get into see Rusty, he was going to need to put together something clever.

* * *

The sun was coming up when he got back to the safehouse.

Danny met him at the door and the disappointment on his face was obvious when he saw Saul was alone.

"He's still at the hospital," Saul explained. "I couldn't get near him, the cops are everywhere."

"They keeping him in or other people out?" Danny asked, his voice shaking a little.

Saul grimaced. "Bit of both, I think. We don't need to worry. They can't possibly have anything on him, and Bobby's still on the inside. In the meantime he's safe and he's getting the medical treatment he needs." It was important to emphasise that part. To himself as well as to Danny.

"How..." Danny licked his lips. "How is he? How bad did Patrick hurt him?"

Walt and Ruby had appeared in the hallway behind them and they both looked anxious to hear the answer, and that only made the truth harder.

"I don't completely know," Saul said with agonising honesty. "He was hurt...he wasn't awake when I got to the hospital. They didn't seem overly concerned though."

But Walt was looking worried and Saul was glad Danny couldn't see that expression.

"Tell me what happened," Danny requested. "Please."

"Let me sit down first," Saul said, suddenly exhausted and Danny blinked at him and then nodded quickly and apologetically.

"Should I make coffee?" Ruby asked suddenly.

"I'll give you a hand," Walt offered quickly, and five minutes later they were settled in the living room with a mug of coffee and a plate of cookies Ruby had found from somewhere.

"Thank you," Saul said with a grateful smile. "Where's Lizzie?"

"Sleeping in the other room," she answered, and he was relieved. He didn't want to risk her overhearing. Actually, he wasn't even too happy about Ruby hearing, but it seemed churlish to ask her to leave.

"Saul?" Danny prompted pleadingly.

"Right," he nodded, and taking a deep breath he started to tell them everything that had happened once he and Bobby reached the house.

He watched Danny's face while he was talking. Watched the anger and fear and hate at the mention of Patrick. Watched the way he clung to every scrap of information about Rusty.

By the time he'd finished talking he wanted to apologise to Danny all over again.

"I'm going to put together an identity so I can get into see him," Saul said. "That's why I'm back here. Something official, maybe something medical. I'll talk to the doctors and find out when we can get Rusty out of there."

Danny nodded tersely. "That sounds good. But I should – "

" – you're going to draw a lot of attention at the hospital, don't you think Danny?" Walt cut in. "Most of my colleagues can tell who should be a patient, you know."

"He's right, Danny," Saul said reluctantly. "You should stay here for the moment." He could imagine the attention that Danny would draw in a hospital right now. And that would mean the cops were bound to show an interest.

Still, the deep unhappiness on Danny's face hurt to witness. He didn't _like _cutting Danny out like this. Especially when it was Rusty's life.

"Danny, I need to give you more meds, and change your dressings," Walt said, glancing at his watch. "You mind coming to the other room for a while?"

If Saul had to guess, he'd say that Danny _did _mind. He'd say that Danny was probably trying to figure out a way that he could argue that he was completely healed now. But, after a stern look, he went with Walt.

Saul sat for a moment longer, drinking down the dregs of his coffee. God, he was _tired. _He hadn't really slept in an age.

"I'm...I'm glad you're okay, Saul," Ruby said, perching beside him, on the edge of the sofa. "I was worried about you." She laid her hand on top of his.

He gave it a few seconds before he drew his hand away as gently as possible. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel rejected. "Ruby..." he began carefully.

Apparently that was enough. She stood up abruptly and her face was flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, God, I'm so _stupid."_

"No!" he said insistently. "Not like that. I'm flattered, but – "

" – I should have known better," she broke in agitatedly. "Why would someone like you even look at someone like me? But you were so _nice, _and I thought you must like me, because why else would you be nice, right? God, I'm so stupid."

"Ruby!" he said sharply and she looked at him quickly. "Ruby, there are people who are willing to help without wanting anything in return. And there's nothing wrong with you – like I said, I'm flattered, but I'm old enough to be your father."

"That doesn't matter to men," she said with bitter confidence. "And it doesn't matter to _me,_" she added, softer and more pleading.

"It matters to me," he said, gently and firmly.

"Yeah," she said blankly, turning away from him. "I guess...I'm sorry, Saul."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he told her.

"I'll...I'll get going sometime later today," she said with a thoughtful sigh. "I think, maybe, we want to get out of the city for a while. Start fresh somewhere else."

She sounded bright and determined, but he wasn't fooled. He could hear the uncertainty beneath it. And while he didn't necessarily disagree that a new start might be good for her, might be just what she needed, he seriously doubted that she had the money or the confidence to make it on her own. "I can help you," he said quietly. "You want a new start somewhere else? I know people. I can make sure you've got a job, a place to stay. Stay here for the moment. I'll see you're alright."

The smile was bright and full of doubt. "Sure, Saul," she said and she was humouring him, and he didn't know if she was doubting he _could _or doubting he _would, _but either way, he wanted her to understand that he meant it.

Nodding, he reached over and grabbed the phone and dialled a number.

Reuben answered after three rings, his voice hoarse with sleep and annoyance. "Whoever this is had better be calling me to say that something's on fire."

"Reuben, it's Saul," he said quickly.

"Saul?" Reuben groaned. "Do you have any idea what time it is here? I went to bed about three hours ago. The magician's snake ate one of the show girls' shoes, and it took three hours of listening to them scream at each other before I got the whole mess straightened out."

That was Vegas for you. "I need you to give someone a job," he said. "Please. She's a bartender. Makes a mean mojito, from what I understand."

"Do I get to know why?" Reuben asked, and he wasn't saying no, and his voice was alive with curiosity.

Saul closed his eyes briefly. "We owe her," he said simply.

There was a long silence. "Do I get to know why?" Reuben asked again, and this time his voice was hushed and concerned.

He didn't want to explain this part. Really, he wished that he could have got through this without telling Reuben anything, but that just wouldn't be fair. "The boys were...taken," he said heavily. "They're safe now," he added quickly. "Ruby gave us the address and me and Bobby managed to get them back."

"They're alright?" Reuben asked quickly.

"They're safe," he said, and he winced at the quick intake of breath that told him Reuben had noticed he hadn't exactly answered the question that had been asked.

"Ruby's the girl you want set up with a job?" Reuben checked.

"Yeah," he agreed. "She got hurt and she wants...needs...to get out of town. I promised to help. She needs a job, maybe a place to stay until she finds her feet – "

" – she helped save Danny and Rusty, she can have the penthouse," Reuben interrupted immediately. "Anything she wants. Get her a first class ticket down here and I'll see she's taken care of."

"She's got a daughter too," Saul added quickly.

"Two first class tickets," Reuben said expansively. "Just give me a call before you put her on a plane.

He exhaled softly. "Thanks, Reuben."

"They're hurt?" Reuben asked softly.

"Yeah," he said, and his mind was filled with memories of the tapes, memories of Danny lying on the floor of the warehouse, memories of Rusty looking at him, wild-eyed and frightened.

"It's bad?" Reuben pressed.

He nodded, unable to speak, forgetting that Reuben couldn't see him, but his silence seemed enough.

Reuben swore, soft and violent. "You'd better get back to them. Just...keep me in the loop, huh? And don't worry, I'll get everything sorted for Ruby."

"Thanks," he said again. "I'll talk to you soon."

Ruby was staring at him when he hung up the phone. He smiled at her. "My friend owns a casino in Las Vegas. The Xanadu. The job is there, waiting for you, if you want it."

"Thank you," she stammered, sounding astounded.

"I owe you," he said simply. "If it hadn't been for you, we might not have found Rusty in time." He shivered at the thought. "Ruby, you're a good person. I haven't known you long, but I can see you'd do anything for Lizzie, you're brave and quick thinking, and you're ready to help a stranger because it's the right thing to do. These qualities matter, and don't you ever think different."

His voice was soft and intent and she'd leaned forwards, hanging on his every word. He thought maybe no one had ever told her anything like that before. For a moment he thought she might hug him, but fortunately the moment passed.

"I...oh, Saul." Her eyes were shining.

"You should get some sleep," he told her gruffly, as she stifled a yawn. "I'm sure Walt said you were to rest."

"Yes," she agreed with a slight smile. "He did. He's so _nice. _You're all nice." She hesitated for a second, watching him carefully. "Saul, forgive me...I mean, I'm not the smartest person around, but I'm not blind or deaf...you're criminals, aren't you?"

He'd expected her to trust him every step of the way. Maybe he had to give the same thing back. "Yes," he said simply. "But we don't rob little old ladies. We don't hold people up at gunpoint."

"You go after people like Patrick and Mike, don't you?" she asked quietly. "People who deserve it."

That was a major oversimplification. "Sometimes," he agreed.

"I'm not going to tell anyone or anything," she assured him. "I just wanted you to know I know."

"Get some rest, Ruby," he instructed, and she smiled and left the room.

The desk in the corner had everything he'd need to put together some kind of official looking identity. At least, in conjunction with the couple of visitor's pass he'd lifted on his way out of the hospital that was.

He'd spent enough time here. He wanted to get to Rusty as soon as possible. He didn't want Rusty to be alone now. And he knew Rusty needed to know as soon as possible that Danny was alright. Hell, he probably needed to know that _Saul _was alright, since the last he'd seen, Patrick had been pointing a gun at him. Mostly, he just wanted to be back with Rusty.

And still...he glanced down at the phone and sighed. Jacques then Molly. Just quick calls to assure them that everyone who mattered was safe. Molly had already been called by Bobby, but it had been the briefest of calls and she was anxious to hear the full story.

More time away from Rusty but it was necessary. And then, just as he'd finished work on the pass for getting into the hospital, the phone rang.

He answered it quickly. Bobby's voice. "Saul? Thank God you're there. We've got a problem."

His mouth went dry, his mind filled with the worst possibilities. "What?" he asked quickly.

"You need to get Rusty moved right away," Bobby told him, his voice hushed and urgent.

"I can't even get into see him," Saul told him. "Is it the Mafia...?" He hadn't really been regarding that as a true threat. Oh, he understood why the police were on guard, but the Mob hadn't been looking to silence Patrick, they'd been out for revenge. And as far as the hit on Patrick went, Rusty was the last person who could have actually seen anything. Far as Saul could see, from their point of view, Rusty was no kind of threat to them. But, God, maybe he'd been wrong.

"No," Bobby said, his voice taut with worry and frustration. "The cops were trying to ID him and someone had the bright idea to take prints."

There was a sinking sense of dread in the pit of Saul's stomach. He hadn't thought that Rusty had any kind of record. But from Bobby's voice, he'd been completely wrong. "Did it - "

" - it came back with a hit," Bobby confirmed miserably. "Something from way back. Something about a truck being stolen. I didn't know anything about it. Hell, the prints shouldn't even have still been on file," he added, his voice sharp with frustration. "Rusty was fourteen, and they were released without charge. They should have deleted the file. But they have Rusty's name now, Saul."

Oh, _hell. _Bobby was right, they had to get Rusty out of there soon. Before the cops managed to ask too many questions and get Rusty twisted up in anything. But still that didn't account for the dread in Bobby's voice. "What else?"

"Saul...they were looking for his next of kin," Bobby said slowly. "There...there was an address."

For a long moment Saul just stood in silence. It felt like the world had come to a crashing halt.

No!

Oh, God, no. This was a nightmare. Like everything he'd felt in the last few years had been nothing but fantasy, and now Rusty's father had come back to claim his son. To take _Saul's _son away.

His fists were clenched and he swore harshly. He wasn't going to let this happen. He wasn't going to let that -man - come _near _Rusty.

"We don't know that he's going to do anything about it," Bobby pointed out hesitantly.

Maybe not. Saul and Reuben had warned him, what would happen if they saw him again. But still..."We can't take that chance."

"I know," Bobby agreed heavily. "Get him out of there, Saul."

He put the phone down and turned to see Danny and Walt standing in the doorway. "What's going on?" Danny demanded quickly, his eyes fixed on Saul's face.

"The cops know who Rusty is," Saul told him.

"Then we can just go in and see him, right?" Danny asked.

Saul hesitated. "They're only going to let in the next of kin."

"That's me," Danny said immediately.

"No," Saul said, as gently as he could. "No, it's not." He knew that Danny had been listed as Rusty's guardian back when they were in school, but that had only worked because no one had ever looked closely. "Not legally, anyway."

"Then who..." Danny trailed off and his face closed off, a wall of blankness settling in place. "No."

"He's not - " Saul began, aiming to reassure.

"He is not getting near Rusty," Danny interrupted, his voice flat and certain. "He's never getting near Rusty again."

"No," Saul agreed. "He's not. I'm going to get Rusty right now, if I can. And even if it turns out he has to stay in hospital, I'm going to stay right with him."

Danny nodded. "I'm going with you."

"Danny, you still need to rest," Walt objected quickly.

Saul was watching Danny's face. He could see the desperation that Danny was trying to hide. First Patrick and now _this? _Saul could barely hold it together right now. And for Danny...this was such an old fear. The first of all nightmares.

"You need to, I'm not going to stop you," he told Danny simply, and the smile that came his way was pure relief.

They hurried outside to the car as fast as they could and Danny settled stiffly into the passenger seat, hiding the pain as best he could.

Saul knew perfectly well that Danny wasn't fit to be up and walking around yet. Just that he couldn't, in good conscience, keep him out of it any longer.

"Just take it easy," he told Danny uselessly.

A briefest flicker of a smile. "He won't come and see Rusty," Danny said quietly. "I _know _he won't. Most of the time, Rus' wasn't even important enough to chase." He bit his lip. "But I keep imagining..."

Yeah. So did Saul. Imagining getting to the hospital and finding Rusty had already been taken. And that was ridiculous, because the doctors, the cops...they wouldn't allow it, and that was leaving aside the amount of trouble Rusty would make before he was taken _anywhere _by his father.

Unfortunately logic never trumped imagination.

"Saul..." Danny began uneasily, as he started to drive off.

"What?" he asked, glancing over.

Danny shook his head with a grimace. "It's nothing."

"What is it, Danny," he persisted.

"You're...you're sure Patrick's dead, right?" Danny asked, his voice subdued and uncertain.

"Yes," Saul said firmly. "He's dead, Danny. I was there. Bobby was standing less than a foot away. Patrick is dead."

A sigh of relief. "Good. I didn't really think..." He shrugged. "I don't know why I asked."

Saul thought he understood. Patrick had hurt them so much, had threatened them so completely, and Danny was missing Rusty and off-balance. Imagining Patrick lying in wait for them, going after Rusty again...It was going to be a while before they felt safe.

"You mind?" Danny asked, gesturing towards the glove compartment where Saul always kept a few bits and pieces. Props and bits of disguises that might just come in handy in an emergency.

"Of course not," he said, wondering.

Danny caught the edge of the look. "I just want something to try and hide the bruises and stuff," he explained, rummaging through the debris. "People don't notice that kind of thing at first glance if there's something else to draw their attention."

The phrasing wasn't quite Danny's. Saul gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and said nothing.

He watched, out of the corner of his eye, as Danny pulled out hats and scarves, and a couple of pairs of glasses, and he wondered what he should be saying right now.

He'd heard Danny talking to Ruby, and Danny hadn't even hesitated before saying Saul wasn't his father. And yes, of course he knew that was true, but Danny had got hurt because Patrick thought..._knew_...that Saul felt different. And Danny had even said that he was Rusty's father, and with the choice Saul had made in the warehouse, the choice he'd never intended to make...he had to think that there were things he needed to say to Danny. He found himself in the strange position of needing to apologise for going too far and for not going far enough, all at the same time.

The choice had been a mistake. Because Rusty had seemed so vulnerable and the need to protect him had been so immediate and primal. And like he'd told Danny, he'd never have deliberately chosen one of them over the other, and once Danny was safe, he'd certainly never have traded.

But Rusty was the one he'd helped with his homework, sitting in Saul's living room all that time ago, talking about history like it was the most natural thing in the world. Rusty was the one who'd encouraged him to ask Ruth on a date, a few months ago, and had hung around until it was time for Saul to leave, eating raisenettes and offering advice on what he should wear. Rusty was the one who'd called him blind-drunk from a truck stop, because his date had gone badly and he didn't have a way to get home. Rusty was the one he'd taught the half overshuffle he'd worked out, and he'd never expected he'd show that to anyone.

It wasn't that he...it _wasn't_. It was just that him and Danny had a very different relationship to him and Rusty.

"What do you think?" Danny asked, turning round, and the scarf was tucked under his coat, barely noticeable but pulled round to cover the bruises on his neck. A pair of slightly tinted glasses hid the bruises round his eyes and a woollen cap was pulled down over his forehead, hiding the dressing.

He still looked like he'd been badly beaten. "If you keep your head down," he suggested. "And have a story ready."

Danny nodded. "Figuring I was just going to say I was in a car accident the other day," he said, pulling a black filofax out of the glove compartment. "If anyone asks."

Might work. If they were convincing and if they were lucky.

"Danny," he said hesitantly. "I heard what you said to Ruby in the hall."

For a few moments, Danny busied himself trying to find a pen in the glove box. "I know," he said at last. "Or at least I guessed."

"I never meant to - "

" - I had a father," Danny interrupted, not looking at him. "He wasn't perfect. In fact he was a long way from perfect. But I loved him and I cared about him and he died, and sometimes I still miss him. And you're a good friend and you've taught me more than..." He trailed off and shook his head, obviously desperate not to finish the sentence.

"I understand," Saul said gently. And he did. Danny wasn't rejecting his feelings, he just wasn't prepared to name them in any way. And he wondered about the far-from-perfect father, and he didn't think that it was through example that Danny had learned to be the man he was today. But he wasn't going to ask.

"I'd be proud," Danny said, and it was a whisper that Saul wasn't even sure he was meant to hear. He cleared his throat hurriedly. "Rusty never had that. And I _like _the way he is with you. I like the way you look at him. I know what matters, Saul."

He nodded. "I know what matters too, Danny. Don't forget that."

Danny smiled at him wearily.

"We're here," Saul said as he pulled the car into the hospital parking lot.

"Finally," Danny whispered fervently and Saul couldn't help but agree.

He wanted to get back to Rusty. Wanted to get them back together again.

* * *

He walked unerringly to the ward Rusty was being kept in, Danny a step behind him, and he marched up to the first nurse he saw and flashed her pass at him impatiently. "I'm Dr Fargie, I believe you're expecting me. What can you tell me about Robert Ryan's condition?"

She blinked. "I'm sorry, I don't..."

"Robert Ryan!" he barked. "The patient in that room there. What is his current condition?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Danny grimace sympathetically at the nurse and mouth sorry. Somewhere inside he was proud, as he always was when he saw Danny fall so easily into character, automatically charming and endearing himself, perfectly supporting Saul's play without even a second's discussion.

She glanced between the pair of them. "Well, he's conscious now," she started slowly. "He seems to be responding well to treatment, his vitals are a lot more stable than when he was brought in...I'm afraid I don't know the exact figures, you'd need to check his chart."

It was a struggle to hide his relief. For him, and for Danny. That sounded encouraging. Sounded like Rusty was doing alright. And now he wanted to get Rusty out of here as soon as possible.

"Is there anything else we should know?" Danny asked intently. "How serious are his injuries?"

Saul wasn't entirely certain just how circumspect that question was. On the other hand, they both wanted to know the answer.

"Well," she said again. "He's got severe bruising and numerous contusions and lacerations, especially on his back, of course. He's also got burns on his groin and thighs which the burns nurse has been taking care of."

He kept his face blank with an effort as he listened to the list of injuries, reminding himself that this wasn't supposed to mean anything to him. Rusty wasn't supposed to mean anything to him. He was aware of the stillness in Danny, tension tightly wound. Everything they'd suffered...he wanted to find some way to resurrect Patrick and kill him all over again. He'd died far more quickly than he deserved.

Oblivious, the nurse carried on taking. "Oh, the doctor got the x-rays back a couple of hours ago. The ribs aren't broken after all, just cracked - it looks like they're damaged along the lines of old untreated childhood injuries."

Oh, God. Childhood injuries? She made it sound so innocent. Accidental, even. And that was the man that the cops had called to look after Rusty. For a moment, Saul almost wished he'd show up. Just so he could make his feelings clear.

Beside him he heard the soft sound of pain and misery, and he didn't dare look at Danny. Didn't think that either of them would be able to keep on top of the emotion.

"Thank you, nurse," he said, inclining his head, keeping the nurse's attention on him. "You've been very helpful. We'll go in and see him now and ascertain if he's ready to be released into our care."

"Oh!" She stammered. "I'm sorry, who are you again exactly?"

"Dr Fargie is the police consultant who specialises in these cases," Danny said, stepping forwards and smiling helpfully and the pain was all locked away again. "He's been asked to deal with the Ryan situation."

"And let me tell you, I don't appreciate being called in like this on my day off," he said indignantly. "If I can't get in and out of here in short order, my report will reflect every inconvenience afforded to me and believe me, heads will roll."

"The room's right over there," she said quickly, pointing. "You'll need to talk to the officer on the door though."

Yes they would. And that took another bout of fast talking before the suspicion faded from his eyes, but in the end they stood aside.

At long last. He was going to have both the boys back at long last. It was finally over and when he pushed the door open he could hardly contain the smile.

The room was empty.


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: One more chapter plus an epilogue! Nearly over!**

**A/N2: Thanks, as always, to InSilva for the preread.**

* * *

Danny was dead.

Danny was _dead. _

It was the only thought left in his head. The only truth left in the world, and it was burning him, a fire raging beneath his skin, consuming everything until all that was left was bitter ashes.

Danny was dead.

Mike had dragged him out of the warehouse and he'd kicked and fought and struggled until, exasperated, Mike had banged his head against the van door a couple of times. After that, things had got fuzzy. The next time he'd truly been aware, he'd been back in the house, lying bound on the floor.

And alone.

(_Danny..._)

He hadn't cried. He _couldn't_. It was like he'd forgotten how. And he couldn't stop imagining Danny dying, afraid and in pain, and it was his fault, he was to blame, because if he hadn't been so fucking weak, Saul wouldn't have chosen him, and right now Danny would be...Danny would be...

He bit his lip savagely until the blood was running down his chin.

He didn't know what to do. It felt like the world should have ended. Danny was...since he was seven years old, his life had begun and ended with Danny, and now Danny was dead and he was still alive and that didn't even make _sense_.

God, he hoped Saul was okay. He'd seen the look on Saul's face in the warehouse, and he'd wanted to say he was sorry. Maybe Patrick had let Saul go. Maybe Patrick had left Saul with Danny's...with Danny.

Patrick.

Patrick had done this. Patrick had hurt, had killed, had stolen Danny away from him.

The fire burned ice-cold. He smiled. Now here was a reason for him to stay alive, at least for a little while.

There was a noise from outside, and he quickly dragged himself up into a sitting position and faced the door evenly.

Loud voices. Arguing. Too muffled to make out the words, but he thought it was Patrick and Mike. Didn't sound like Dirk anyway, although maybe he was just keeping his mouth shut.

That had to be good for him though, right? If they were arguing between themselves, they'd be distracted, and if they were distracted maybe he'd be able to act. To take them on and win. They all deserved to die. Maybe he could get into the middle of their fight, could goad them, push them, and all he was looking for was a momentary opening.

(_In his head, Danny's eyes were full of disapproval, and he wasn't thinking of a way out afterwards.)_

The noise outside cut off abruptly, and the front door slammed shut. Rusty winced; the sound had cut right through him. Fuck, Mike had really done a number on him. His head was killing him. Killing him...

He froze.

Guilt absolute.

Danny. Oh, God, Danny.

He was never gonna see Danny again. He was never gonna see Danny smile at him again, never gonna see that look of fond exasperation, never gonna see Danny's eyes light up with joy and inspiration. Danny was gone. Danny was dead, and Rusty didn't have any right to complain about being uncomfortable.

Danny was gone.

With a soundless snarl, he banged his head hard against the wall behind him. He didn't have time for this shit now. He had to hold it together. Later, maybe, if there was a later, he could fall apart. When he'd earned it.

The door slammed open and Patrick stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, watching him. "Well," Patrick said eventually. "It looks like it's just you and me now."

Rusty didn't say anything. He just let the depths of infinite hatred burn in his eyes.

For a second, Patrick looked almost unnerved, but he recovered almost at once.

"Aw, are you missing Danny?" he crooned.

More than Patrick would ever know.

"Maybe we should find some way to take your mind off it," Patrick mused. "How would you like to play a game?"

"How about Russian Roulette?" Rusty shot back with a snarl, and the idea of watching a bullet go through Patrick's brain filled him with morbid delight. "I'll even go first, if you like." One in six odds of dying against one in five odds? That was good enough for him.

"I don't think so," Patrick said, his lips pursed. "Although it's an excellent suggestion, thank you, Rusty." He giggled. "Maybe I'll keep it in mind for when Saul joins us. Won't that be fun?"

He shut his mouth quickly. He didn't _want _Saul to join them. He wanted Saul to stay as far away as possible. And he knew Saul would be looking for him, knew that Saul wouldn't stop looking, not ever, but Patrick had killed Danny, and Patrick could kill Saul, and Rusty couldn't let that happen.

"You know," Patrick went on. "I can just imagine the look in Saul's eyes when he sees you holding a gun to your head. Almost as good as the look he was wearing in the warehouse with Danny. Oh!" he added apologetically. "I forgot, you weren't there for that bit, were you? Pity..."

"Shut up!" Rusty struggled, desperately trying to get to his feet, trying to run over there, to force Patrick to stop talking. "Shut your fucking mouth."

"Language," Patrick chided, disapprovingly. "My, you certainly are cranky today, aren't you?"

Rusty stopped the futile effort and looked Patrick straight in the eyes. "You're going to die soon," he said with the deadweight of certainty.

Another momentary look of unease, and then Patrick carried on talking like Rusty hadn't said a word. "You've certainly had a long enough nap, so it can't be that."

How long had he been out of it? The thought filled him with unease. He'd been sure it couldn't have been too long, but something in Patrick's voice...he spoke like it had been hours at least. Couldn't be though, right? Patrick was just messing with his head. Like earlier with the basement, and he still didn't have any clue how long it had been since they'd been taken. Felt like it had been months ago that they'd been together and safe in their own home, when their biggest problem had been figuring out how to decoy the night guard at the mall. And now Danny was dead, and his life was reduced to nothing more than that.

"You do look like shit," Patrick went on, squinting at him critically. "Perhaps you're thirsty. It's been a while since you had anything to drink."

Now that he thought about it, it had been. He didn't know how long he'd...how long he'd been in that bodybag, but it had been before that. And now that he was conscious of it, he was aware of the harsh pain in his throat, aware of the gnawing ache in his stomach, the way his tongue was swollen, the way his lips and mouth were cracked and dry. So many pains that were far more immediate and immense, but he was badly off.

"It would be really inconvenient if you were to die before time," Patrick told him. "So that's just perfect! Now we have a _prize _for our game. Are you excited?"

He almost laughed. He wasn't going to play any game with Patrick. No matter what the prize was. Patrick just didn't have anything he cared about anymore.

"You wait right there," Patrick told him, and vanished out the door.

Left alone, Rusty tried again to stand. His feet were tied together, his hands were cuffed behind his back, and it just seemed an impossible balancing act. He'd just fallen for the third time when Patrick came back into the room, his hands hidden behind his back.

"Okay then," Patrick announced. "We're going to play a game. And if you win, you get this." He brought his right hand out triumphantly, and it was holding a pint glass of clear, iced water. "Looks delicious, doesn't it?" he asked rhetorically, and he let the glass tip just a little so that some of the water tipped out onto the floor, right in front of Rusty. "Oops."

He stared at the water unspeaking, unmoving. His thirst was raging, but it didn't _matter. _Nothing mattered.

"And if you lose," Patrick went on, frowning at his lack of reaction. "If you lose, I'll make you drink _this._" His other hand, another glass. And the water...if it had even started out as water...was cloudy and murky, dark and unpleasant. "You don't want to know what's in there," Patrick told him gleefully.

Rusty thought he probably didn't. It still didn't _matter._

"You are not as much fun as your brother," Patrick told him, eyes narrowed.

"Don't you even _mention _Danny," Rusty said immediately, through gritted teeth.

Patrick smiled. "Now, that's more like it," he said, casually spitting into the second glass. "Now, let's play. Twenty Questions, I think. The fewer questions you can get the answer in, the more of _this _you get to drink and the less of this. Doesn't that sound like _fun?_"

Rusty just looked at him, uncaring.

"Now," Patrick said. "On you go and ask a question."

That wasn't going to happen. He leaned back against the wall and let the smile spread over his face.

"I'm waiting," Patrick said, sounding a little annoyed.

Far as Rusty was concerned, he could wait all day. Longer, even. If he wanted to.

"Is this _really _what you want to do?" Patrick demanded, patience eroding fast. "I can make your life a living hell, you know. You think you've been hurt? You haven't seen _anything _yet."

Rusty knew pain. There was nothing more Patrick could do to him. And he wasn't going to play this game.

"I'll even give you a clue, how about that?" Patrick proposed. "Just to start you off. I'm a man. And I've killed someone. Two someones, I suppose."

Right away Rusty knew the answer Patrick was looking for. And he was never going to say that. Even if he was buying into this, he wouldn't say that.

"Fine!" Patrick flung the glass of clean water at Rusty and it shattered against the wall, just above his head, raining glass down all around him. He was conscious of a vague stinging in his scalp, and that wasn't important because he managed to grasp a large hunk of glass and his hand clenched tightly around it. A weapon. A weapon he could use to kill Patrick. "If this is how you want to play, that's just fine. You fucking boring little _brat!" _

Patrick strode across the room, towering over Rusty, and the other glass was in his hand, and he grabbed Rusty by the throat, forced his head back, and then the glass was smashed against his lips, against his teeth, and the liquid was thick and slimy, bitter and acrid and sour, and it flowed into his mouth and didn't let up, and Patrick was massaging his throat, forcing him to swallow, and he was choking, inhaling, and his lungs were on fire and his stomach was cramping, and the glass ground against his mouth, and Patrick kept it there until he'd swallowed the last drop.

He doubled over, as Patrick stepped back, and he was coughing and wheezing, everything was burning, and for a long moment he was sure he was going to throw up. Somehow, he didn't. Somehow he didn't, and he looked up at Patrick, his eyes watering, his mouth smeared with fuck-knows-what, and he sneered. "Boring little brat?" he asked hoarsely. "Is that really the best you got?"

Patrick kicked him hard in the jaw, the pain reverberating through his skull.

"I think it's time to talk to Daddy," he heard Patrick announce over the pain. "Don't you?"

Without waiting for any kind of answer, he reached out and grabbed Rusty by the hair, forcing him to stumble up, and when he would have fallen, yanking him up higher, until every inch of his scalp was screaming.

For the briefest of seconds his vision blurred, and the old familiar living room rose up around him, and Dad had a hold of him, holding him still so he could hit him better, and his feet were scrabbling uselessly against the floor.

He took a deep breath and his hand tightened around the glass. Focus. He had to focus.

With his ankles bound together, he could only manage ridiculously tiny steps, and Patrick was laughing as he tottered after him, and finally they reached the phone and he watched as Patrick dialled Saul's number.

Patrick was going to want him to talk. He was going to use him to hurt Saul. Going to try and make him beg, maybe, like he had so long ago in that video, and a wave of pain and guilt and anger and embarrassment washed over him as he realised that Saul had _seen _that. Fuck.

He bit his lip furiously. This time he wouldn't say anything. No way he was letting himself be used like that again.

"Hi Saul," Patrick said into the phone, and Rusty's just-made resolution wavered slightly. He wanted to talk to Saul. He wanted...no.

"I would have thought you'd be home by now," Patrick went on and Rusty breathed a sigh of relief. Answering machine, he realised. The one he'd hooked up for Saul a year or so back. And that made this so much easier. "Are you there?"

There was a long silence, and Rusty could've told Patrick that if Saul wasn't picking up the phone, he wasn't anywhere near. Then Patrick turned to face him, and the smile hid absolutely none of the rage and frustration. "I guess Daddy's not in. Do you think he stopped at the bar on the way home? I suppose after seeing _you _he might have needed a drink."

In spite of himself, Rusty felt himself shrivel up a little inside at Patrick's words. He remembered the look in Saul's eyes. Remembered how Saul had spoke up to protect him almost immediately, before Patrick had even had a chance to hurt him. He had a good idea of how weak he must have looked.

But Saul was out looking for him right now, he knew that. He only hoped that Saul had...that Saul was looking after Danny. Oh, he must have. There was no way that Saul would have left Danny to lie alone in that warehouse.

"Oh, come on now, what's the matter," Patrick complained, and it seemed like his silence was doing a good job of driving Patrick nuts. "Don't you _want _to talk to Daddy? You are his favourite son, after all. He proved that _very _nicely."

The only answer he gave was a glare of slow-burning hate.

Disgusted, Patrick turned back to the phone. "I'm afraid Rusty's being a little _shy _right now, but don't worry. I'm having lots of fun. We've been playing a game...he's being a good boy. Just like Danny was."

Rusty couldn't help but tense up. Just at the mention of Danny. And he didn't know...would _never _know...what Patrick had done to Danny while he'd been indisposed.

Patrick saw the reaction and his teeth were glinting when he turned back to face Rusty. "Danny was _very_ nice to me, you know. You should have seen him kissing my boots. It was quite a sight."

Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. The pictures were playing in his head and they wouldn't stop, and Patrick had...Patrick had made Danny...

Patrick smiled widely and took a step closer to him. "Let's see if you can be as nice as Danny..." he started, and Rusty seized the opportunity and stepped forwards and headbutted Patrick, as hard and fast as he could.

There was an unpleasant crunching noise, and Patrick was howling in pain, and Rusty seized the opportunity, kicking forwards at Patrick's legs, and Patrick fell, his arms flailing, bringing down the table with the phone too, and Rusty was on top of him, hitting out with elbows and knees and feet, and he twisted around, the glass tight in his hand, struggling to bring it up to Patrick's throat.

A sudden, desperate punch and Rusty was knocked backwards, and he rolled quickly, trying to get up, trying to keep fighting, but Patrick was taller and stronger and Rusty was tied up, and it was a matter of seconds before Patrick was on top, a matter of seconds before Patrick wrenched the glass out of his hand and lashed out with it, cutting lines into Rusty's shoulders and arms and chest and back.

"I'm getting tired of this attitude," Patrick told him, clambering off him slowly. "We're going to have to do something about it."

Rusty didn't speak. This time, he didn't think he could.

Patrick rubbed at his temples irritably. "I think you need to go back downstairs for a while. Until you've calmed down. In the meantime, I'll try and think of a suitable punishment."

Rusty barely had the strength to fight as Patrick dragged him back down to the basement and cuffed him to the pipes.

He fought anyway.

It didn't make much difference. Patrick cuffed him to the pipes and left him in the dark without a word.

Fuck! He'd had surprise on his side...if only he'd been a little quicker. If he'd managed to hit Patrick a little harder the first time so that he was dazed longer. Or, if nothing else, if he'd managed to hang on to the glass...

He'd failed.

"Sorry, Danny," he muttered into the darkness.

There was no answer of course. He closed his eyes and took a deep shuddering breath. There'd be other chances, he thought, he hoped. He comforted himself with the promise that he'd see Patrick's life end.

(_Would that answer the emptiness inside of him? Would that even make any difference at all?_)

He wondered what Saul was doing right now? He knew that Saul would be looking for him, knew that Saul would be searching and desperate. But how much chance did Saul really have of finding him? Even he only had a general idea of where he was. And once he might have assured Danny that Saul would find them and been absolutely confident in that fact, but now everything seemed a little less possible than it ever had before.

Danny...oh, God, Danny. He screwed his eyes shut tighter. No tears. No weakness.

Behind him, the pipes were growing hotter. Was worse this time around, he dimly noticed. The lack of t-shirt made a difference. Danny had put up with that the first time and he hadn't said anything.

He wanted to scream and shout and swear. He wanted to rage and howl against the world, against everything that had taken Danny away from him. He wanted to sob himself hoarse. He wanted to hit his head against the wall until he didn't have to think anymore, didn't have to _feel._

Instead, he sat very still and waited.

An unknowable time passed before the door opened again and Rusty sat up straight.

Enough waiting.

He squinted towards the light, satisfied that the figure framed in the doorway was Patrick.

Good. Patrick had an idea of his weaknesses and he could use that. Time to put the plan into action.

The moan was a pitiful noise, a soft gulp of hope and despair. "Please," he begged hoarsely. "Please let me out of here. I'll do anything you want."

Patrick giggled as he walked down the stairs. "Aw, have you had enough?" he crooned. "Do you not want to be locked up anymore?"

"No. _Please,_" he said, his voice quivering. "'m sorry, D..." He paused just long enough to make his slip obvious. "'m sorry, sir," he corrected, once he was sure Patrick had noticed. "I'll be good from now on, I promise. Just don't lock me up again."

"There, there," Patrick soothed, the mockery shadowed in his voice, kneeling in front of Rusty. "I think maybe you've learned your lesson after all."

Rusty nodded frantically, trying to emphasise the trembling in his limbs, trying to make the flinch as Patrick came clearer look involuntary, trying to look _broken._

"Maybe..." Patrick mused, his eyes delighted, and obviously he was trying to figure out how to use this to his best advantage. "Maybe I'll believe you're really ready to be good if you tell Daddy a few hometruths. Would you do that for me?"

He bit his lip and tried to look like he was considering it.

"If you don't want to, it's no trouble," Patrick said casually. "I can just leave you down here until you change your mind."

"No!" he shouted, panicked. "I'll say whatever you want me to, I swear."

Patrick grinned. "There's a good boy," he murmured. He reached out and carefully unfastened the cuff from the pipes, and as compliant as Rusty looked, he was still watching Rusty's hands carefully, still holding Rusty down.

This wasn't an opportunity.

Without being prompted, he held his hands out in front of him submissively, and Patrick smiled as he cuffed them together.

"You really _are_ a good boy, aren't you?" he commented approvingly. "Up those stairs with you now."

He played up the pain he was in as best he could. Each step hurt, and instead of hiding it the way he normally would, he made a production of it and he knew Patrick was enjoying the display and it took an age until they were at the top of the stairs.

The top of the stairs. And Patrick was a couple of steps behind him. A couple of steps_ below _him.

His feet secure on the floor and he spun round, put his arms over Patrick's head, the short chain between the cuffs wrapped around Patrick's throat, and he pulled it as tight as he could.

He didn't say a word, but he watched as Patrick clawed at his throat, watched as Patrick's face turned purple, as his eyes bulged, and Patrick was kicking out at him, trying to knock him down, but Rusty had the high ground and he was immovable, and Patrick was making soft choking noises and Patrick was _dying. _

Just a few more moments. Just a few more...

The blow from behind took him completely by surprise.

He was hauled off Patrick like he was nothing more than an annoying child, and he was screaming his rage and frustration and hate.

He found himself lying on his back on the ground, Mike kneeling heavily on his chest and the smell of sweat and alcohol was almost overwhelming and immediately it triggered a feeling of fear and repulsion in Rusty that he had to fight down.

Patrick was a few feet away, doubled over and wheezing hard but _alive. _Bastard. He should have fucking _died. _Why hadn't he died?

(_He'd failed Danny all over again._)

"Fuckin' little shit," Mike mumbled, punching down at him unevenly, and Rusty did his best to throw him off, but it was like trying to shift a ten ton weight and the weight on top of him was slowly crushing him, and he'd swear he could hear his rib cage creaking. "Fucking treacherous li'l _bitch._"

He wasn't absolutely certain that Mike was talking to him exactly, but Mike's hand was wrapped around his jaw, turning his head this way and that, and the heel of his hand was digging into Rusty's throat just enough to make breathing difficult and talking unthinkable.

"Gon' teach her a lesson," Mike told him and he leaned in close enough that Rusty could smell his breath and the alcohol rose off him in waves. "Soon as I get through with you." His thumb slid across Rusty's lips, forcing its way inside his mouth, and jabbing viciously into the place where Patrick had torn out his tooth. The pain was sharp and unexpected, and Rusty cried out and tried to bite down, but the hand on his jaw made that impossible.

"Mike, that's enough," Patrick said, still breathing hard, but straightening up now and his eyes were bright and furious. "I want to make sure Saul gets to see everything that happens to our darling boy."

"You still wan' _revenge?_" Mike sneered belligerently, staggering backwards off Rusty. "Jus' keep it _simple,_tha's what I say." He dug a gun out of the back of his jeans and with one rough movement, shoved it up against Rusty's mouth, splitting his lip. "Jus' kill the little bastard and send him to the father. Fuck, if you really must get clever, we can fuck around with the body first. That'll really wreck his head. Then we kill the father. See? Simple. None of this dicking around with tapes an' drugs and whatever."

Patrick's mouth was set and he glared at Mike. "I'll take it under advisement. Take him through to the living room."

Mike shook his head. "Uh uh. You said - "

" - fine," Patrick ground out, digging into his pocket.

Rusty took advantage of the moment and struggled to his feet, ready to throw himself at Patrick again, and Mike laughed and punched him hard in the face. For a second, everything was blurry and tinged with red.

His vision cleared just in time to see Patrick thrust a bundle of notes towards Mike. "There. Satisfied?"

Mike grunted and stuck the money in his back pocket. "Yeah. Whatever."

"Good." Patrick jerked his head towards Rusty. "Bring him through to the living room."

He struggled against the bruising grip Mike had on his arm but nothing seemed to work and he was dragged along behind Patrick and the camera was already filming, pointing straight at the chairs.

Fuck. He didn't know what was going to happen but he didn't want Saul to have to see it. Whatever happened, he wasn't gonna give Patrick the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He swore. Patrick couldn't hurt him anymore.

(_Sorry, Saul. Sorry, Danny._)

As he watched, Patrick turned one of the chairs around so that the back was to the camera. Then - smiling widely - he hauled Rusty in front of the cameras, and Rusty kicked and punched at him, already knowing it wasn't going to do any good.

"Smile for the camera," Patrick giggled, and he reached out and tore Rusty's boxers off.

No! He bit back the cry ruthlessly. No reaction. Patrick thrived on reaction, and if that was the only way he could resist, so be it. Not like he didn't have plenty experience keeping quiet under pressure.

(_In his head, he saw again the look on Danny's face so very long ago, the days that had gone by as Danny begged him to say _something, _and he was still sorry._)

Patrick grabbed him by the shoulder so he was facing the camera and dragged his hands up so he didn't have a hope of covering anything.

"I don't imagine Daddy's ever seen you like this before," Patrick commented casually and his eyes raked over Rusty's body slowly. "Bit scrawny, aren't you?"

Yeah. Well, that would happen when you were locked up in a basement for fuck knows how long with barely enough food to survive.

"Stand up straight," Patrick ordered. "I don't want Saul to miss a thing." He reached over and stroked a hand over Rusty's hair, curving down around the side of his neck until his finger trailed onto Rusty's chest. "Feeling humiliated yet?" he murmured. "When Daddy sees this, I think he'll just go crazy, don't you?"

He didn't care so very much about Saul seeing him naked. But Saul was going to see the blood and bruises that were littering his body, and Rusty hated that thought. He could imagine how much it would hurt Saul, and something deep in his head was shouting that no one was supposed to see his injuries. He was supposed to hide...

Turning to Patrick, he gave a contemptuous shrug. "You're the one who knows crazy," he pointed out.

Patrick's face darkened and he took a step closer, towering over Rusty, about as intimidating as a man could be.

Rusty took advantage of Patrick's proximity to stamp on his foot, trying to follow up the attack immediately, but Patrick was still holding his hands together.

"Ow," Patrick said mockingly in a low voice, and he punched Rusty hard in the face, shoving him as he fell back until he was sprawled on the floor.

"You see, Saul?" Patrick said, turning to the camera. "I've just been having all sorts of problems with this one. No wonder you despair of him. You're absolutely right, you're too soft. A good taste of discipline, that's what he needs."

"You think I don't know that Saul didn't say anything like that?" Rusty asked harshly, and he needed to remind Saul that he knew that.

"He even tried to kill me a little while ago, imagine that," Patrick went on. "And as you can see, he's not adverse to a little violence." He gestured at his own face, and Rusty grinned savagely at the sight of the bruises he'd given Patrick. At least he'd managed _something._ "I suppose it's not your fault though, is it Saul?" Patrick continued slowly. "He was influenced long before you got your hands on him." Teeth glinted down at him. "Violent parents breed violent children, you know. He never really had a chance to be anything other than an abusive little shit. He's just like his father and that's all there is to it."

"I'm nothing like my Dad," he snapped, old fear burning deep inside him. "I'm never gonna be like him. Go fuck yourself already." He wasn't. He'd hurt Patrick but that didn't mean...hell, that didn't mean _anything. _Patrick deserved everything he got.

Patrick quickly stamped his foot down on Rusty's crotch and ground his heel in. "I. Just. Can't. Do. Anything. With. Him," he emphasised, as he twisted his foot.

His teeth were tearing through his lip so hard that for one irrational moment he was afraid he might choke on the blood in his mouth. It hurt. Oh, God, it hurt, and he wanted Danny, he wanted Danny to hold him close and promise that it was gonna be alright, but Danny was gone and he'd face so much worse than this if it would only mean he could get Danny back, even just for a minute.

"Alright," Patrick said eventually, giggling, good humour seemingly restored. "That's enough foreplay. Let's get to the main event."

"'bout fucking time," Mike muttered sullenly, disappearing out the door to the hall.

Patrick ignored him. He reached down and hauled Rusty off the floor, dragging him over the chair and tying him to it, sitting backwards on it so that his arms were dangling over the chairback and his back was frighteningly exposed. His legs were forced wide and forwards and tied to the chair legs, his feet not even touching the floor.

All in all, he could move a couple of inches forwards and back, but that was about it.

The pain was still coursing through him.

Right now, he felt unbearably vulnerable.

That was when Mike walked back into the room holding an electric iron. Steam was rising from it already.

He glanced up at Patrick and forced his voice to be steady. "You think this stuff up by yourself or is there some sort of torturer's handbook you're working from?"

"All my own work," Patrick assured him. "I had lots of time, after Benny died, to think about how best to avenge him." He took the iron off Mike and crouched in front of Rusty, thumb rubbing over his lips tenderly. "Would you really do any less for Danny? I've got a couple of bruises that say otherwise. If you had your chance, it would be me in this chair."

"No," Rusty said, with a complete absence of common sense. "I'm with Mike on this one. I'll just shoot you in the head."

"Really?" Patrick pursed his lips. "I guess you just didn't love Danny enough. Shame."

He couldn't hide the flash of anger and denial. He _had _loved Danny enough. He had. And he would kill Patrick, he just wouldn't... He'd loved Danny. He had.

Patrick smiled triumphantly and shoved the iron onto the chair between Rusty's legs, and immediately the heat was beating against his thighs and groin. He wriggled backwards, as far away as he could, and it still hurt like a bitch, but at least it wasn't touching him. (_Yet._)

"Plug this in, will you?" Patrick asked Mike, shoving him the cord dismissively. "We don't want it losing any heat now, do we?"

"Sure," Mike grunted, turning away from them disinterestedly.

Rusty thought he could live with losing heat quite easily. Surreptitiously he tried to spread his legs a little wider, tried to move away, and this was like the pipes in the basement only worse.

"You know," Patrick said thoughtfully, walking around behind him. "You're really blaming the wrong person in all of this. I wasn't the one who started this. And I _certainly _wasn't the one who got you involved. That was all Saul Bloom." He raised his voice. "_You _know that, right, Saul? Look at Rusty here. _Look _at him. All this is because of you. Just think how much better off he'd be right now if he'd never met you. Hell, he'd probably even have made it to his nineteenth birthday."

_Danny would be alive. _

He felt guilt for the thought immediately. This wasn't down to Saul, this was down to Patrick. He knew exactly who to blame here. And if they hadn't met him, Patrick would still have come after Saul, and maybe, probably, it would be Saul in this position. Saul being hurt and tortured and killed, and of course he didn't want that.

He glanced at the camera and pretended that Saul was standing there, standing right in front of him. "There are more important things," he said softly and he knew that in all probability these were the last words he'd ever get to say to Saul. "I wouldn't trade."

It was the best he could do. He could only hope that Saul would pick up on everything he _wasn't _saying. Everything he wouldn't say in front of Patrick.

"That's sweet," Patrick said with a giggle. "Let's see if you don't change your mind."

There was a noise from behind him. A belt unbuckling and he couldn't quite mask the shock and fear, couldn't quite hide the hint of a tremor.

A whistling noise was the only signal, and then the belt came down upon his back, lashing heavily between his shoulder blades, and automatically he jumped forwards, instinctively trying to escape the pain, and the iron burned into his left thigh, and he squirmed backwards in time to meet Patrick's second strike.

Right. Right. He had to try and keep still. He had to stay silent and still and let Patrick hurt him.

The pain came again. And again. And again, and deep in his head he was nine years old again, exposed and terrified and alone, thirteen, scared and angry and defiant, and always determined to keep the pain inside. His fingernails dug deep into his palms, his teeth tore into his lip and he didn't make a sound.

With every strike Patrick seemed to get a little more vicious, a little more enraged, and Rusty could feel the blood oozing down his back. And he tried not to move, tried his hardest, but he couldn't always help it, and time and again the iron pressed against him, and he struggled not to scream.

(_Danny. Oh, Danny, please.)_

Eventually, Patrick stopped.

The pain didn't.

He sat huddled on the chair, trying to will himself past the fire on his back and thighs, not able to lift his head, barely able to keep on breathing. The iron was still in front of him, still hurting him, but he couldn't summon the strength to try and move further away.

Patrick walked around in front of him, facing the camera. "I've worked up quite a sweat," he giggled. "Revenge is hard work. Still, I'm going to get a lot of practice. I think I'm going to do that every few hours or so...I want to see if darling Rusty gets used to it."

Oh, God. His back was a mess just from this. If Patrick whipped him again...he didn't know how much more he could physically take. Even Dad hadn't used the belt like that. How much longer could he make himself stay quiet? How much longer could he make himself stay alive?

"How long do you think he'll live?" Patrick mused to Saul, echoing Rusty's thoughts. He looked back at Rusty critically. "He doesn't look so good now, does he? I suppose it depends what else you make me do to him, doesn't it?"

He drew a knife and threw himself towards Rusty in one swift movement, and the knife slashed across his scalp, and the pain was immediate and he'd swear he could feel the point of the knife grating on his skull, and the blood was flowing down his face, covering his left eye, and he jumped, and the iron brushed against his leg and he jerked back.

And that wasn't the worst part. Because when he'd seen the knife lunging towards him, he hadn't been able to stop himself from crying out, and Patrick was looking like all his Christmases had come at once, and Rusty felt like a fucking coward.

"Well," Patrick said calmly, turning back to the camera. "I hope you found that instructive, Saul. I'll say goodnight for the moment. I'm tired. And right now, I'm going upstairs." He reached behind the camera and pulled out a dog collar and chain. "Maybe I'll take Rusty with me. What do you think?" He started giggling uncontrollably, and he reached out and turned the camera off.

"Right," Patrick said, when he finally stopped laughing. "Mike, get that tape sorted out and take it round to Bloom's place. I want him to see it as soon as possible."

Mike glared sullenly and didn't move away from the wall. "Whatever."

Patrick's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do as I say."

"I said I would, didn't I?" Mike demanded belligerently.

"It's so difficult to get good help these days, isn't it?" Rusty murmured, clicking his tongue. And that was a good point. Where the hell was Dirk? It had been a while since he'd seen him. He'd assumed that maybe he was out checking up on Saul, but with the way Mike was acting he had to wonder whether Dirk had just had enough and called it quits. Fuck knows, Patrick did not seem like a model employer. Huh. Had to be worth a try. "You've got Mike talking back and Dirk running out on you. Sad that you just can't get the calibre of minions you need, isn't it? Anyone would think that kidnap, torture and m...and_ murder _were bad or something."

Mike's face darkened and he stomped quickly towards Rusty, his hand outstretched, and luckily Rusty braced himself in time to ride out the punch.

"You can't even get minions who can hit worth a damn," he commented, shaking his head sadly.

"You want to upset the father?" Mike demanded hoarsely. "Fine. I'll cut out this fucking brat's tongue and you can send it to him."

The knife was gleaming in Mike's hand.

Rusty tasted horror at the back of his throat. Didn't matter. In the short run it didn't matter and the long run was looking increasingly unlikely. "Gotta admit, that would put a serious cramp in my social life," he remarked lightly.

"No, I don't think so," Patrick said regretfully. "Not yet, anyway_. _I _do _want Saul to hear him scream and I don't want to risk anything that might interfere with that. Not to mention, I don't want him doing anything stupid like bleeding to death. I'll tell you what though. I'll get in some tourniquets and for tomorrow's tape you can cut off anything you like _except_ the tongue, how does that sound?"

Rusty froze and in his head he was _screaming _for Danny.

Mike looked down at him for a second. "Anything?"

"Anything," Patrick confirmed. "Be creative! Go crazy!"

Mike looked satisfied with that, and Rusty tried to hide his fear and revulsion.

"Now," Patrick continued, fastening the dog collar around Rusty's neck and pulling it tight. "I'm going to get some sleep for a few hours." He untied Rusty and quickly cuffed his hands behind his back, ignoring Rusty's attempts to fight like they were beneath notice.

"You taking the kid with you?" Mike frowned, picking up a bottle of whisky from the floor. "Didn't know you were into that."

Rusty bit his lip hard and reminded himself that there'd been no sign, no _suggestion_.

And besides, this was an opportunity. If Patrick was sleeping in front of him, or if Patrick was doing...something else...there'd be more of a chance for him to fight and kill. He was in luck here.

"No," Patrick said, his face twisted with disgust. He reached out and tilted Rusty's head to the side. "He might be pretty, but I'm not queer. Besides," he went on, and now he was talking directly to Rusty. "I did enough background research to know that you'd _like _it."

He kept his face blank. The last thing he wanted was for Patrick to think that his soul was screaming at the thought. But he certainly wasn't going to _agree._

Fortunately, Patrick seemed to lose interest and dragged Rusty out of the room.

As they left, he saw Mike give the camera and cursory glance and reach again for the whisky bottle. He wondered what it said that right now he felt safer being with Patrick.

Upstairs and they were in a small room dominated by a sagging double bed. The sheets were stained and filthy and he wrinkled his nose at the smell.

"You ever think about doing some laundry?" he drawled.

Without even looking round, Patrick pulled the choke chain tight and he found himself gasping for air. "You really need to start thinking about keeping your mouth shut," Patrick advised mildly.

Yeah. Oddly, he could imagine Danny giving him the exact same advice. Could imagine the look on Danny's face. That strange mix of exasperation and tense fear. Saul too, he supposed and he remembered that time after the poker game with Emery when he'd seen how Saul had been frightened for him.

Neither of them were here now. Rusty was on his own.

"And you need to start thinking about personal hygiene," he shot back. "I bet you used to get your kid to do all the laundry, right? And now you don't know – "

The backhand punch sent him sprawling to the floor. " – You don't get to even _talk _about Benny!" Patrick screamed, his boots thudding against Rusty's ribs, and he felt something give way. "Shut your fucking mouth. Your father killed him! Your father killed my son you little bastard. And you're making fun of him? He was worth a hundred of you. He was a good boy. He had a future. You're _nothing._ You're not even fit to kiss his boots. You're worthless!"

"You use to tell him that too?" Rusty gasped out between kicks. Impossible to imagine Patrick as a devoted father.

Another kick smashed into his jaw and dizzy, he lay still and silent.

"I think," Patrick said wearily. "That if I'm going to get any sleep right now, I'm going to need to do something about your tongue."

Mike's words from earlier echoed through his head and he tensed imperceptibly as Patrick stood over him.

"Let's see," Patrick mused. "You were worried about my hygiene..." He giggled to himself, sat down on the bed and carefully started removing his shoes and socks. "This should do nicely." He bent down and forced first one sock and then the other into Rusty's mouth.

He tried not to screw his face up. Oh, God, the _taste. _Like stale sweat and rotten milk and for a moment he was convinced he was going to throw up.

"That's right," Patrick said softly. "You just suck on that for a while." He knelt down beside Rusty. "You know, Danny was a lot more cooperative than you. He was such a good boy. He was happy to kneel at my feet. Happy to eat out of my hands. You know, I wish I'd kept him a bit longer, actually. I would have liked to show you how obedient he could be. I'd have had you standing there while he cleaned my boots with his tongue."

Inside his head he was screaming, but only a moan escaped the gag. Not Danny. Not _Danny. _He couldn't stop the picture in his head, and he tried desperately to kick out at Patrick.

"Uh uh," Patrick chided. "I don't think so." He grabbed Rusty's legs and tied them first together and then to the bed frame. "There. That should keep you still for the night."

He glared silently up at Patrick.

"I'm going to enjoy sleeping, knowing that you're lying naked on the floor at my feet," Patrick told him cheerfully. "Sleep well, Rusty."

Hatred throbbed through him.

He didn't fall asleep, of course. In the circumstances that probably wasn't even possible. Quite apart from anything else, the pain was hovering somewhere around fucking _excruciating. _

Funny. Physically this might just be the worst pain he'd ever been in. And it didn't even begin to compare to the hell inside him.

Danny. Oh, God, Danny. He was sorry. He was so fucking sorry. He should've done more. There must've been something he could have said or done that would have ensured that he'd been the one who'd died and Danny was the one who...no. No, he should have been able to make sure that Danny escaped. He didn't know _how _but there must have been a way.

(_A few years ago Danny had told him that self sacrifice was selfish. Rusty didn't care anymore._)

Back when he was a kid he'd been convinced that Danny would grow up and forget all about him. He'd tried to prepare himself for that day. Tried to imagine how it would feel when Danny wasn't in his life any more. Told himself that he'd be able to cope.

Now, now he knew that he couldn't. Everything good in the world had been ripped away and he didn't know how to live like this. It was only his hatred that was sustaining him. Hatred gave him life, gave him purpose, and he clung to it with grim desperation.

He'd see Patrick die. That was what mattered.

If only he could figure out _how._

He'd tried twice now. Somehow he didn't think Patrick was stupid enough to give him any more opportunities.

Danny would have found a way by now, he was convinced of it. If their positions were reversed, Danny would have ended Patrick already.

He stared up the ceiling.

Mike had a gun. He kept it in the back of his jeans. And Mike also had a hair trigger temper and a tendency to attack. If he could wait until his hands were free - even for a moment, even when they were about to tie him to the chair – and then say _something. _Something annoying and obnoxious and designed to get Mike to attack him, then while Mike was pounding on him he could go for the gun. He thought he could shoot Patrick before they got him. He imagined it. One smooth movement, grab the gun and fire. He didn't know that he could get Mike too.

That didn't matter.

He lay still, listening to the sounds of Patrick sleeping peacefully mere feet away and he grimly worked on trying to pull his aching wrists through the cuffs.

He missed Danny. He missed Danny so much.

It was a couple of hours before he heard the sound and at first he was sure he was imagining it. It was coming from downstairs. Sounded like someone moving around and doing their best not to be heard. Could be Mike, he thought at first, but why would Mike bother keeping quiet? Or it could be Dirk coming back, but he'd have thought he'd have heard the front door.

A tiny note of hope and dread started creeping through him.

Someone was breaking into the house. Had to be someone looking for him. He clenched his fists tightly. Saul. Had to be. Saul had come to save him. And God, he wanted to see Saul right now but he was terrified of what could happen. Last time Saul had tried to sneak up on Patrick...he didn't want Saul hurt. Not for anything.

He couldn't get out of here. Couldn't go to Saul. All he could do was lie, tensed and waiting, redouble his efforts with the cuffs and hope against hope that Patrick didn't wake up.

He didn't hope hard enough.

Patrick stirred and Rusty held his breath. _Go back to sleep_, he pleaded mentally. Let Patrick go back to sleep so that Saul could sneak in here and free him, and they could kill Patrick without even waking him up.

"What's that?" Patrick asked very, very softly, sleep vanishing from his voice. A frozen moment and Patrick was out of bed, looking out the window. "Fuck," he said tersely, and someone else was out there? Maybe it wasn't Saul after all. Patrick bent down and untied Rusty's legs quickly. "Stand up and get moving," he ordered, waving a gun in Rusty's face. "We're getting out of here."

He considered refusing. Considered the advantages of just staying put. Not like Patrick could safely shoot him – a gunshot would attract all sorts of attention after all. But if Patrick just left him behind, then Patrick might escape and then how could Rusty be sure of finding him again?

No, he didn't want to let Patrick out of his sight until he was good and dead.

Scrambling to his feet he followed Patrick out of the room and Patrick clung tightly to the dog chain the whole time.

A sound from the stairs and he moved towards it quickly but Patrick hauled him back, pulling the collar so tight he couldn't breathe.

Footsteps coming closer. Patrick held him tightly, pressed the gun to his head and turned the light on.

Saul. Rusty's heart leapt in his chest and it was ridiculous that he should be at all happy that Saul was here. He wanted Saul as far away as possible, somewhere _safe. _And the terror and the grief he was feeling right now were very real, but deep inside there was just the smallest spark of joy.

(_Saul had come for him._)

Any happiness at the reunion was drowned out in a second though. Saul's eyes were anguished as he looked at Rusty and when he turned on Patrick there was incandescent fury written on his face.

Patrick saw it too. "Hush no," he said. Why don't you put your gun down on the ground like a good boy." The gun dug deeper into Rusty's cheek. "After all. We. Wouldn't. Want. Anyone. To. Get. Hurt. Now. Would. We."

He ignored the pain. The pain didn't matter. What matter was _willing _Saul not to do it. Not to give up the only advantage he had.

He already knew that was never going to happen.

Saul laid the gun down on the floor and inside his head, Rusty was raging at him, even as Patrick turned the gun on Saul.

"I saw the cops outside, Saul. That was a gutsy decision." Cops? Saul had called the cops? He couldn't help but be surprised. "I'd hoped to make this last longer. I wanted to make the remainder of your life a living hell, like you did to me." He giggled. "Still, I guess I did, didn't I? Time to say goodbye."

Out of the corner of his eye, Rusty could see Patrick's finger begin to tighten on the trigger.

No! He couldn't let this happen. There was no time to think, no time to plan, it was a split second of sheer desperation.

He threw himself sideways, crashing into Patrick's arm as hard as he could, and he didn't know what was going to happen, he didn't know if it would work, but Patrick yelled in surprise and the gun flew out of his hand.

He only had the briefest moment to celebrate. The briefest burst of exultation that Saul wasn't dead, before Patrick hit him hard and he fell back, and there was the shortest crack of pain before everything went dark.

Everything went dark, but somehow he could still see, and as he watched, the gun was somehow back in Patrick's hand and the barrel was against Saul's forehead and God, he'd failed again, he hadn't moved fast enough, and Saul turned to face him, his eyes full of reproach and disappointment, and the gunshot echoed through his soul and Saul's blood was warm on his face and he was _screaming_...

He woke up with a cry, shaking and panicked.

He stared around himself wildly, trying to figure out where he was, what was happening, but the light was too bright and it hurt his eyes and the world was spinning chaotically around him.

Why the fuck was he even alive?

He shivered, breathing hard, and immediately he was hit with the smell of antiseptic and sickness.

Hospital. He squinted blearily around, vaguely taking in the narrow bed, the incomprehensible machines. Private hospital room. Like the one Danny had been in so long ago. His fists clenched tight and when he looked down at his arms they were choked with half a dozen wires and tubes. Ugh.

Why was he _here? _Where was Da...

The grief hit him all over again and the soft cry of utter desolation and misery was overloud in the small room.

No Danny. Not ever again. But Patrick was still out there and he still had to...he _had _to. There was no alternative.

And Saul. He'd seen Saul die but that had just been a nightmare, hadn't it? But then why wasn't Saul here with him...unless Saul had gone after Patrick himself. He bit his lip; that seemed all too possible.

He had to get out of here. Had to get after Patrick.

His legs felt like they weighed at least fifty pounds more than they should, but he managed to half fall out of bed just as the door opened.

The world was swimming alarmingly as a nurse strode towards him, clicking her tongue irritably. "What are you doing out of bed? Get back this instant."

Yeah. He didn't know if he was capable of that. Throwing up on her feet felt about the only possibility right now and he must have made some noise, shown some sign, because moments later and he was being manhandled back into bed and there was a sick bowl in his hand, she was rubbing his back soothingly as he retched. "There, there, Robert."

Finally it was over and he lay exhausted as she fussed around him, checking him and scribbling down notes on the chart.

"Now," she said presently. "I'm sure you've got a few questions. Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital," he said briefly, then frowned. "Where exactly?"

"Brookdale," she told him. "Now can you tell me your name?"

He _could. _He just wasn't sure he wanted to. He hovered for a second on the brink of giving her a false name. But she'd already called him Robert. She wasn't asking because she needed the information. She was just checking if he knew who he was. For an even briefer moment he considered feigning amnesia. Would save him from answering too many questions. Trouble was he was sure they would see it pretty fucking quick. And they'd be _much _less likely to let him go.

"Robert Ryan," he said at last softly.

She nodded encouragingly and if she found his hesitation worrying she gave no sign of it. "Very good. And do you know the date, Robert?"

Not the first clue. "Guess I haven't looked at a calendar lately," he said as lightly as he could.

The look of pity on her face had him seething inside. "That's okay, Robert. Do you know the year at least?"

"1984," he said immediately and she nodded. He swallowed hard. "What..what _is _the date, please?"

"Oh! It's the fourteenth of October," she said.

Less than a week had passed. Less than a week ago Danny had been alive and they'd been together and everything had been fantastic and he'd thought that would last forever. Danny had been alive and brilliant, bright and warm and magical and the most amazing person Rusty would ever know. All he'd ever wanted.

Less than a week for the end of the world to pass unnoticed.

"Thank you," he said with a subdued smile. "Do you know how I wound up here?"

"The police brought you in," she said instantly. "I'm sure they'll want to talk to you once the doctor has said it's okay," she added but Rusty was hardly listening.

The police? What did that mean? Where was Saul? Had Patrick been arrested then? He vaguely remembered Patrick seeing cops outside. "The man who...in the house, what happened?" he demanded.

She looked uncertain. "I'm sure I'm not supposed to tell you anything like that."

"_Please,_" he said entreatingly. "I need to know." It was part plea, part demand and all desperation.

"He was shot," she said at once reassuringly. "He's dead. He can't hurt you anymore, Robert."

He flinched away from the comforting hand that came towards him. He didn't want to be touched right now. Not in the slightest. She looked abashed and retreated towards the door.

"The doctor will be in to see you in a moment," she promised and as she hurried out the door he caught a glimpse of a couple of cops standing on guard.

He guessed he wasn't going anywhere.

There was nowhere he wanted to go.

Danny was dead.

Patrick was dead.

The anger was still there, raging through him, but there was no focus to it now. He was lost, adrift on an endless sea of fury and despair and it was only a matter of time before the water closed over his head altogether. His grief was infinite and overwhelming, covering him like a shroud, and he wasn't sure he'd ever find his way out of it.

All his thoughts had been tied up in revenge and now that had been stolen from him.

How had Patrick died? Had it been the cops? Saul? Did it even _matter? _

He rolled awkwardly onto his side, the lines in his arm pulling uncomfortably and his legs were pulled up close to his chest.

He'd never felt like this before. He'd never felt so utterly _alone._

Back when he was a kid and he'd felt lonely like this, he'd lie down and imagine that Danny was there. Imagine lying in Danny's arms, imagine Danny holding him, comforting him, looking after him. If he closed his eyes he could almost feel Danny's hand stroking his hair...

For a moment he was sure he would cry. Oh, _Danny..._ He didn't know what to _do. _The lump in his throat was painful, and he pressed his fists hard against his eyes.

No tears. Nothing hurt as much as it should. Numbness blanketed him. They must have hooked him up to something strong

He didn't want that. He wanted to _feel._

The door slammed open again and he jumped, rolling onto his back quickly, and the pain spiked through him.

The doctor was standing there, looking tired and severe and not at all happy to see him. "So you're awake then?" she said briskly. "Good. I'm going to check you over. Then I'll prescribe you some more meds and you can get some rest till morning."

"I want out of here," he said softly.

She ignored him to all intents and purposes and short moment later and he was being poked at, mauled, and he wanted to yell at her to leave him alone, wanted her to stop _touching _him. She didn't say a word to him. She didn't even meet his eyes and every time she touched him, every time she even came _near _him, he had to fight not to shift away, and he drew back further into his head, distancing himself from the real world as best he could.

He was so _tired. _So defeated.

By the time she was finished with him he was barely aware of anything, even as she stood at the end of the bed talking to him, telling him how he was doing.

"And we've called your father," she finished brightly, gather up his notes in a bundle. "He'll be here soon."

That reached him. "Saul?" he breathed hopefully.

She frowned absently and glanced down at the notes. "It says here your father's name is Robert?"

"Oh, yes. Right," he said weakly, and he'd already started trembling before she left the room.

Fuck. Oh, fuck no. That couldn't be happening. His fists were clenched tightly. This was like all his old nightmares come to life.

He had to get out of here. He wasn't going to let himself be trapped in here, waiting for Dad to find him. Danny would never forgive him if he let Dad near him again.

No, he had to get out of here.

He sat up in bed, not daring to move too fast, and carefully, meticulously, he started ripping lines and tubes out of himself. Blood sprayed lightly across the white sheets, and he clamped his hand over his arm automatically, trying to stop it. He didn't have much time. Had to imagine that eventually someone was going to come and check on this stuff.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he stumbled out of bed and staggered to his feet. He still had a couple of plugs or whatever in his arm, but they weren't connected to anything anymore. He figured he could dig them out later when he had the time, and possibly a knife. And all he had on was a thin hospital gown which didn't cover anything. He'd have to find more clothes. He looked around the room vaguely, opened the bedside locker to check. Nothing.

Of course. He would have been naked when he was brought in. He remembered Patrick ripping his boxers off, remembered the dog collar and Patrick's socks in his mouth. Fuck, no wonder that nurse had looked at him with such pity. He supposed that a lot of people must have seen him like that, and he cringed as a dull flush of shame consumed him.

(_Saul had seen him like that. But he couldn't bear to think of that just yet._)

Right. No clothes and the cops on the door weren't going to just let him walk out of here.

He moved over to the window and looked down. Fuck, that was high. Third floor, he thought, and if he fell he might not die, but he wouldn't be walking away.

But...but there was a window directly below his. An open window directly below his and the window ledges looked pretty wide.

Right now he was weak and dizzy, barely able to stay on his feet. This idea was fucking _crazy._

But he could imagine Danny's face if he knew that Dad was coming for him. He was alone and that meant he had take care of himself. For Danny's sake. Besides, Mike and Dirk were still out there and they were far from innocent of Danny's murder. And Saul...he had to find Saul.

If he stayed here, none of that would happen.

He opened the window as wide as it would go and shakily clambered out.

The ledge was directly below him. He climbed over the edge, his jaw clenched tightly, and he let his weight drop onto his arms, then further until he was dangling by his fingers, his feet scrabbling widely in mid air, searching for the next window sill.

He couldn't reach.

He couldn't reach and his fingers were slipping.

In the instant before he fell, he felt the gown flapping in the breeze and he reflected vaguely that he must be mooning the people below.

His fingers slipped off the stone ledge and for a long, awful moment he fell. Then his feet touched the ledge below and he threw himself forwards, tottering on the ledge for only a moment before he fell on the glass.

Pain arched through him and he bit his lip hard, stifling the cry of pain before it even took form.

The window opened further as he pushed and he fell into the room, landing heavily on the floor.

The impact jarred his aching body further and his teeth dug into his lip harder than ever and he lay still for a moment, trying to convince himself that he wasn't going to throw up or pass out.

Presently he raised his head and looked round himself foggily. Hospital room. Pretty much like the one he'd just left. There was an old woman lying on the bed, eying him curiously.

He staggered to his feet and smiled shakily at her. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Please excuse me."

She nodded her head and didn't say anything, and he limped towards the door. It started opening just as he approached, and he ducked into the bathroom as a nurse bustled in.

"There was a boy in my room," the old woman announced loudly. "He came in the window."

_Fuck. _He held his breath for a long tense moment.

"That's nice, dear," the nurse said agreeably. "Let's get you sitting up."

"He was very polite," the old woman said, and Rusty quickly slipped out of the room, and into the ward. No one was nearby and he ran through the first door he saw. Staff cloakroom. That was just perfect. There were clothes folded on benches, hanging out of lockers.

Sitting down heavily on the nearest bench, he grabbed a pair of scrub pants from the shelf just behind his head. They weren't much, but he figured that was about as much as he could stand to have touching his thighs. There were dressings there but it still hurt like all hell. There was a t-shirt lying on the bench next to him, which he pulled on. Huh. T-shirt had Dire Straits on it. Danny hated Dire Straits. He wanted to take it off, but he just wasn't sure he had the energy. Instead he ruthlessly quashed the feeling of guilt and shoved his feet into a pair of beat up trainers and he was almost too tired to do up the laces.

Least he was wearing clothes now. Would make him much less noticeable.

He yawned suddenly. God, he was so tired. His breathing was harsh and uneven and he had to force himself to stand up again. He had to get going.

One last thing. He managed to find a coat that was just a little too big for him and would hide most of his injuries nicely, as long as no one looked too close at his face anyway. Even better, there was a ten dollar bill left in the pocket.

He kept his head down as he snuck out of the hospital. With every step he was sure someone was going to recognise him, call him back and insist on keeping him there.

They didn't. He found himself out in the parking lot and that left him facing the next question.

What now?

He didn't have anyplace to go, not really. Danny was gone. He was alone and Patrick was already dead.

He couldn't go home. He shivered at the thought, remembering the last time he'd been there, watching Danny hurt, being dragged away...no. No, he never wanted to go back there again.

"Hey, buddy." A taxi pulled up beside him and the driver frowned out at him. "You're looking a little rough. You needing a ride?"

"Yeah," he agreed softly, opening the door and falling inside and it felt so good just to sit down.

"Where are you going?" the driver asked.

He didn't say anything.

"I need to know where you're going, buddy," the driver persisted.

Yeah. Yeah, he supposed that made sense. He gave Saul's address with a sigh.

He must have fallen asleep almost immediately because the next thing he knew the driver was leaning back and shouting at him. "Hey! Hey, we're here. You alright?"

"Yeah," he said again with an effort, shoving the ten dollar bill at him. "Keep the change."

The walk up to Saul's apartment took forever. It seemed like there were far more stairs than there ever had been before, and when he got inside it was cold and dark and empty.

Saul wasn't here.

Rusty didn't know _where _he was. He would be fine, though. He was sure Saul would be fine.

He turned the light on, stumbled into the living room and froze immediately. There was...there was a new video recorder there. A video recorder and a couple of homemade VHS tapes and on the coffee table there was a napkin with a couple of _teeth _folded in it and a large piece of paper covered in bloody footprints.

Danny. Oh, God, Danny.

For the first time he cried.

He sank to the ground and the tears were falling and he was _howling,_ lying on Saul's floor and crying like he was never gonna stop.

He wanted Danny back. He wanted Danny to be alive again. _Please_. Oh, please, he'd do anything. Danny...

Eventually, shakily, he crept onto the sofa, scrubbing at his face. Where was Saul? He had to find Saul. That was the only idea he had left.

Maybe if he called Bobby he would have a few ideas. At least he'd be able to find out if Saul had been arrested or...hurt. And besides. Someone had to tell Bobby about Danny.

Let's see, it was almost eight in the morning. Bobby would probably still be at home, and he wouldn't be waking Molly and Linus. He dialled the number quickly before he could even think of what he was going to say. There was no good way this conversation could go. No way this could ever be bearable. All he could hope for was to keep his voice as steady as he could.

He got the busy tone and almost laughed.

Right. Right, for other people life went on. Other people were living their own lives.

He'd try again in five minutes or so.

He lay down on the sofa and waited and dreamed of Danny.


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: Coming to the close now and I'd like to thank InSilva once again for reading over I think almost all of this story first and being patient and understanding and always, always helpful. Not to mention that she was the one who thought someone should hurt Danny and Rusty to get to Saul. Thanks as always, mate.**

* * *

For a long moment Saul just stared, dumbfounded, and the cop pushed through the door behind him with a loud shout, checking the bathroom, checking under the bed, checking the _locker _and Saul seriously doubted that Rusty could have fit in there even if he'd wanted to.

"No one came in or out," the cop stammered. "I swear. Twenty minutes ago, he was there."

Twenty minutes. Such a lot could happen in twenty minutes.

What the hell had happened here? Whatever the cop said, there were always ways. Decoys and distractions...he'd been considering them himself, after all. Had someone taken Rusty? His mouth was dry at the thought. The Mob, some friend of Patrick's...he didn't _know. _He didn't know but he'd thought they were about to get Rusty back safe, and this was killing him. Killing both of them.

He turned to face Danny, ready to reassure, ready to promise Danny that it would be alright, that somehow he would make it alright, and Danny's eyes were fixed on the bed.

Following Danny's gaze, he swore softly. There was blood sprayed across the sheets. God.

"I'm going to call for backup," the cop announced loudly, heading for the door and a crowd was beginning to gather.

"Danny - " Saul began quietly, because awful as it was, they needed to get out of here. They couldn't help Rusty if they were caught up in the investigation.

" - he wouldn't want to stay here," Danny said, still not looking at him. "Not when he was alone."

"He'd try to go after Patrick," Saul agreed with growing horror. Rusty wouldn't know that Patrick was already dead. God, if that idiot child had walked straight into the police investigation, Saul was going to...he was going to do _something_. "You think he left on his own?"

Danny nodded tersely and looked at the window.

It was wide open. Rusty could fit through there easily enough. But they were on the fourth floor.

Saul hurried over and looked out, Danny a step behind. "Too high for him to jump," Saul commented and that was something at least. But there was a smear of blood on the window ledge, like someone had been holding on.

"Floor below?" Danny asked him.

"Floor below," Saul agreed grimly.

That stupid, stupid boy.

Doctors, nurses and cops were crowded in the doorway, all talking loudly, all playing the blame game. Saul was inclined to blame all of them. He wanted to look them in the eye, demand to know exactly how they could have left his injured son alone long enough for him to run away, demand to know how they dared call themselves professional, demand to know why they were standing around talking instead of _doing _something.

More than that, he blamed himself. He should have got here sooner. He should have made sure that Rusty didn't wake up alone.

The distraction of the argument at least gave him an opportunity to lift Rusty's medical notes, and Danny quickly took them from him and concealed them in his coat. Walt would want to see those. Especially if they found Rusty soon.

They walked out past the bickering medical staff, hiding from the cops as best they could and headed downstairs quickly, and Danny was limping more and more with every step, but he waved away Saul's look of concern like he just didn't care. Probably he didn't.

Their way into the next ward was immediately blocked by a large and intimidating nurse. "And just who might you be?"

Saul flashed his pass quickly.

"Oh," she said, defrosting slightly. "Sorry, doctor. We've already had one intruder in here tonight."

"Really?" he asked casually. "Did you catch him?"

"No, more's the pity," she said, scowling. "No one even saw him. But there's clothes missing from the staff room. Some money too, apparently. Good-for-nothing punks...if I got my hands on him I'd soon teach him right from wrong. The problem with - "

" - I'm sure," Saul agreed with a tight smile. "Now, we were looking for Ward 56?"

"Oh, of course," she said, mercifully distracted from her tirade. "It's two floors up and on the other side of the building."

"Thank you," Saul said, nodding politely, and in spite of Danny's look, they turned and walked out, heading to the nearest exit.

"We should have gone in there and looked around," Danny insisted in a low voice. "You heard her. Rus' was _there._"

"_Was _there," Saul pointed out patiently. "He found some clothes and some money. You really think he couldn't get out of the hospital?"

Danny struggled for a second then nodded. "Yeah. You're right. Sorry." He was looking exhausted, Saul noted anxiously. He'd pulled the hat off at some point and his hair was stiff with sweat, his eyes glazed and distant. The limp grew more painful with every step.

They reached the car and Saul opened the door for Danny, trying to surreptitiously help him inside.

"I'm not an invalid, Saul," Danny snapped.

"You're hurt and you're exhausted," Saul pointed out, meeting Danny's gaze steadily. "If I didn't know better, I'd take you back to Walt."

A pause and Danny gave a wan smile. "Lucky you do know better."

"Yes," Saul agreed. "Now. Where would Rusty go first?"

Danny closed his eyes and Saul started the engine. For a moment he thought Danny had somehow fallen asleep. "He still thinks that Patrick's alive and I'm dead," Danny said at last. "He's going to want to go after Patrick, but he's gonna want to...see me."

Saul nodded. "Which first?" he asked, and he'd never know Rusty as well as Danny did. No one ever could.

"Patrick," Danny said after a second, and when he opened his eyes the misery was evident. "He'll think he doesn't deserve...he'll go after Patrick."

"He knows roughly where the house was," Saul said thoughtfully, trying not to imagine Rusty, alone and grieving, trying to fight back the surge of emotion at what Rusty thought he _deserved_. "He got some money that nurse said. He could take a cab." Which meant that he could be there by now. And the place would be lousy with cops.

"Mmm," Danny didn't sound quite so certain. "He might go to get a gun first. And he'd want to know that you're okay."

"Jacques," Saul said slowly. "And Bobby."

"Jacques wouldn't give him a gun just like that," Danny objected.

"But Jacques will know everywhere Rusty might go to get one," Saul answered quickly. "He'll be able to ask around."

"Which will save us from doing it," Danny nodded, grimacing slightly. "Sorry, Saul."

"And Bobby needs to know that Rusty might be coming near the house," Saul added. And he was the most likely person Rusty would call to find out about Saul. He glanced at Danny. "What do you think?"

"Should be it," Danny agreed, rubbing at his head like it was aching. "If we make the calls, and go stake out the house...we'll find him. Right?"

"We will find him," Saul promised and they had to. There was no other option.

Right. So what they needed now was a phone. He glanced at the entrance to the hospital, weighing up the options.

The decision was more or less made for him when a squad car screeched up outside.

"Looking for Rusty," Danny said leadenly.

Yeah. "We need to get out of here," he said regretfully and they drove off.

He drove two blocks away from the hospital before he started looking for a pay phone. All the way he kept his eyes open, looking twice at every pedestrian, at every cab, hoping that for the first time in a while, luck would be on his side and he'd see Rusty. He knew that Danny was doing the same, but there was no sign. Rusty had a headstart and he could be anywhere.

"Phone," Danny said tersely, pointing to a gas station.

Saul nodded and pulled in.

When Danny stood up he swayed noticeably, and his face was carefully blank. Managing the pain. Saul grimaced and put a hand out on his shoulder, steadying him. "You want to stay in the car?"

Jaw clenched stubbornly, Danny shook his head. "I need to know what's happening."

Yeah. Not like Saul didn't understand that. "Don't push yourself," he said, already knowing that Danny would push himself as far as he felt he had to.

The sardonic glance that came his way only confirmed it.

He walked beside Danny across the forecourt, trying not to make an issue of the fact he was walking slower than normal, of the way he was poised to lend a hand the second Danny looked like he needed it. Part of him was screaming that he should take Danny ho...back to the safe house, that what Danny needed was rest and care and safety. The rest of him knew damned well what Danny needed most in the world right now.

He phoned Jacques first and kept the conversation brief and to the point and Jacques was worried and promised he'd make all possible enquiries. If Rusty had bought a gun, Jacques would know about it soon.

"Oh, and Saul?" Jacques added carefully. "That little problem in the warehouse? My contact called back. It's been taken care of."

Saul swallowed hard. Dirk. And he absolutely did not want to know the details. "Thank you," he said, and his voice _almost _sounded normal. "If you hear anything, call my place. Leave a message."

"I will," Jacques promised. "Good luck."

He hung up and Danny was leaning heavily against the wall, his eyes frowning. "Is that...did he...?"

Saul shook his head quickly. Even more than he didn't want to know the details, he didn't want Danny asking questions. "It's dealt with," he said carefully and he avoided Danny's eyes and quickly dialled the number Bobby had given him.

It wasn't Bobby who answered, and he could hear the bustle in the background, the noise of a busy police station. "Yeah? Detective Marrs speaking?" the unfamiliar voice spoke.

Hell. Saul immediately, instinctively, dropped his voice a half register lower. "This is Agent Watt, can you put Agent Caldwell on?"

"Yeah, just a sec." He heard the receiver clatter down onto the table, heard the detective bellow. "Caldwell! Phone call."

Saul waited, tense and awkward. This was going to be tricky. He was going to need to avoid saying anything suspicious, they couldn't be certain of not being overheard.

"Agent Caldwell," Bobby said gruffly a second later, and Saul could hear the exhaustion in his voice. It was a long time since any of them had slept.

"It's me," he said quietly and he knew that Bobby was alert immediately. Not like Saul would be calling here if it wasn't an emergency. "Just went to the hospital. He wasn't there."

A sharp intake of breath was the only immediate answer and Saul knew that Bobby was biting back his real reaction. "Mike is in custody," Bobby said after a short silence. "Can't be him. We got an angle on the shooters but nothing proveable. I don't know how this gets them anything. I - "

" - We think he left himself, Bobby," Saul interrupted softly.

There was another burst of silence. "He is - " Bobby began, his voice sharp with anger and frustration.

" - believe me, I know," Saul said dryly. "Danny thinks he'll go to the house first."

"Damn," Bobby said heavily. "I'll do what I can. There's a few guys I can tell to keep an eye out without telling them _why_."

"Thank you," Saul said. "Call my place if you hear anything. Me and Danny are going to go check out the house."

"Be careful," Bobby said immediately. "Keep your distance."

"Yeah," he agreed. They'd have to. Much as he was worried about Rusty getting too close to the cops, it would be ironic if they did the same thing.

"Danny's there?" Bobby added sharply. "He alright?"

Danny rolled his eyes and stepped closer. "I'm fine, Bobby," he said into the receiver and Saul doubted that Bobby would believe that in a million years.

"Just take care of yourself," Bobby told Danny gruffly. "You hear me?"

"We need to get going," Danny said in answer. "Thanks for everything, Bobby."

"You'll find him," Bobby said with absolute, unshakeable certainty and Saul found himself nodding.

They'd find had to keep believing that.

Danny was staring at the phone fixedly. "Rus' wouldn't call Bobby at the police station," he said slowly.

Saul blinked and then nodded understandingly. "He doesn't know that Bobby's there." And that meant that maybe – just maybe – Rusty would have called Molly, and if Rusty had spoken to Molly, he would know what had happened. He'd know everyone was safe, that they were _looking _for him.

He dialled Molly's number quickly and he was _hoping. _

Took a few rings before she answered. "Hello?"

"It's Saul," he said immediately. "Have you heard from Rusty?"

"No...you said he was at the hospital?" She sounded anxious.

"He left," Saul said briefly.

"Willingly?" she asked quickly.

"We think so," he agreed. "Looks like he snuck out the window while no one was looking."

There was silence and he thought she was covering the same reaction he and Bobby had had. "He really is just like you," she said at last.

That wasn't helpful right now. "He might call, looking for information," he told her. "Tell him Danny's fine. We're both fine. Give him the address of the safe house and tell him to wait there."

"Of course," she promised briskly. "If I hear from him – "

" – call my place," he confirmed. "Thanks, Molly."

"He didn't call," Danny said dully as Saul hung up the phone.

"Not yet," Saul pointed out. "If he took a cab, might have taken him a while to find a phone." He looked closely at Danny. "Did Walt give you some pills?"

Danny shrugged casually and it took an effort.

Didn't matter. Walt _would _have given Danny something. No way he would have let him leave the house without something. "Think maybe you need to take one, don't you?"

A stubborn shake of his head and Danny's mouth was set. "They don't...I need to stay focused."

"Daniel." Saul was firm. "You are not focused if you're in too much pain to think."

Danny sighed. "Okay," he agreed grudgingly.

Saul patted his arm. "Thank you," he said gently. "Now wait here a moment, will you?"

He ran into the shop quickly and grabbed a couple of bottles of water, a couple of sandwiches and a few candy bars. By the time he'd paid for them and got back outside, Danny was sagged painfully against the wall, his eyes closed.

"Danny?" he said cautiously and Danny looked at him blearily. "Come on. Let's get back to the car."

He managed to get Danny settled and he stood over him until he'd taken a couple of pills and a long drink of water.

"Here," he said, laying the food on Danny's lap. "Eat whatever you can."

Danny stared at the food and the water for a long moment and then he looked up at Saul and Saul couldn't even begin to guess what he was thinking. "Thanks, Saul," he said softly.

Saul smiled briefly. "Let's get going."

* * *

Seeing the house again was like something out of a bad dream. Saul found himself staring at it as he parked the car.

He knew what had happened there now and he felt sick inside.

"That's really it?" Danny asked wonderingly. "Looks normal."

"Yeah," Saul agreed. It almost did.

There was a couple of cops stationed outside the house and a whole lot of crime tape. He figured the investigation was still going on inside.

No sign of Rusty. No sign of anything other than boredom on the cops' faces and that suggested there'd been no hint of a disturbance.

"Guess he hasn't got here yet," Danny suggested quietly.

Saul nodded. It didn't look like it.

Danny sighed determinedly. "We need to start looking," he said, getting out of the car. "We need to find him."

He was right, of course. They couldn't be certain that they'd see Rusty from the car, or that he'd see them. They quartered the block around the house, careful to keep their distance from the cops, scanning the streets for Rusty.

It was quickly obvious that every step Danny took was agony for him, but every time Saul so much as suggested that he go and wait in the car, Danny just looked at him and made an effort to walk a little faster.

Two hours passed. It had been more than three hours since they'd been at the hospital.

"He would have got here by now," Danny said dully.

Yeah. Saul thought so too.

Maybe they were wrong about Rusty having left the hospital of his own accord. Maybe Rusty had been taken by someone. Was being hurt right now. Was _dying _right now.

"We'll go back to my apartment," Saul said. "Maybe there's news."

He could only hope, but Danny wasn't even looking a little bit convinced.

They turned to walk back to the car and Danny stumbled and would have fallen.

Saul's arms were around him instantly, holding him up. "Come on," he said gently, and he half carried Danny towards the car.

Danny didn't say a word. His eyes were blank and far away and devoid of hope, and Saul's heart ached for him.

They couldn't go on like this.

* * *

Danny hadn't said a word in the car or when they were walking up the stairs, and Saul thought that it was taking all he had just to keep going.

He'd get Danny to sit down for a bit when they got in. Get some rest, maybe even get some sleep, and Saul could choke down some coffee and try and figure out what they should do next.

That was the problem; he didn't _know. _He was hoping that there'd be some news, that Bobby or Jacques would have come through with something, but if there wasn't...if there wasn't he had no clue where to start looking.

Even if Rusty had left of his own accord, he'd been hurt. Traumatised. Maybe they'd been right about where he was going but maybe he'd collapsed somewhere along the way. Maybe he'd got lost, confused, and wandered off to find someplace to hide.

There seemed to be no end to awful possibilities and Saul just wanted him back safe.

They reached his apartment door and Saul glanced quickly at Danny, realising with a wince that he'd left all the...messages...that Patrick had sent him lying out. God, he didn't want Danny to see that. He could surely protect Danny from _that _at least, even if he hadn't managed to save him from anything else.

Danny's eyes were half closed and he seemed barely aware of what was going on and much as Saul _hated _that, he figured that he could at least get rid of the evidence without Danny even noticing.

He opened the door. "Come on, Danny," he said, ushering him gently inside and he hurried past Danny once they were inside, heading to the coffee table and the bundle of horror that was lying there.

From behind him he heard Danny make a soft noise that might have been a sob and might have been a laugh. He turned quickly, worried about what Danny might have seen in spite of his efforts, and Danny's eyes were wide and staring, overbrimming with shock and incredulity and...and...

Very, very slowly he turned his head and looked.

On the very edge of the sofa, Rusty was curled up asleep.

Somehow, Saul found that he couldn't speak. There was a painful lump in his throat and he opened his mouth and he just couldn't make a sound.

Rusty was here. Rusty was here and he could see the cuts and bruises covering Rusty's face and arms, could see the lines of pain and exhaustion, but that didn't matter. Rusty was here and he couldn't look away.

His son. Oh, thank you, God.

Felt like he might have just stood there for the rest of time. Fortunately, Danny recovered faster, lurching forwards towards the sofa, falling to his knees beside Rusty, his hand stretching out, not quite touching. "_Rus',_" he whispered softly.

Took a moment before Rusty stirred and Saul held his breath. He _knew _how light a sleeper Rusty normally was. Hard to believe they'd managed to walk in here without Rusty waking. He must be well and truly dead to the world.

Rusty opened his eyes and saw Danny and for a moment his expression was frightened and disbelieving.

"It's me," Danny said unsteadily and he reached out and took Rusty's hand and brought it up to his mouth, the kiss brushing over it. "I'm here."

The smile was like nothing Saul had ever seen before. The kind of happiness most men could only _dream_ of.

"Danny," Rusty whispered, and he scrambled to his feet, almost falling over himself in his haste, and his arms were wrapped tightly around Danny like he never ever wanted to let go.

They stayed like that for a long moment and part of Saul thought he should make himself scarce, should look away at least. Give them their privacy. But he didn't think he could leave if he wanted to. They were both here. They were both alive. This was finally over.

"Dire Straits?" Danny murmured at last. "Really, Rus'?"

Rusty's laugh was choked and close to hysterical. "Thought you wouldn't notice," he said, stepping back, his fingers still entwined in Danny's. His face crumpled."Oh, Danny I thought...I thought..."

"I know," Danny said soothingly. "I'm here. I'm alive."

Rusty carried on heedlessly, the words tripping over each other. "I thought...and he _said_, and I tried to kill him, but I fucked up, and then in the hospital they said he was dead, and I didn't know what to do. I thought you were _dead."_

"I'm not," Danny said unnecessarily. "The warehouse...after Mike dragged you away." There was a slight tremor in Danny's voice that suggested that moment would featuring heavily in his nightmares for a while. "Saul saved me."

At the mention of his name, Rusty's head turned sharply, looking for - at - Saul for the first time, and the hope and relief in his eyes took Saul's breath away.

Right at that moment he could see exactly how Rusty felt about him, and it was more than he could ever have asked for or expected.

Releasing Danny momentarily, Rusty took a step towards him, and his expression was open and unguarded, and other emotions cut in there; worry and apology and hurt and uncertainty. "Saul, I..." he began.

Saul stepped forwards quickly and put his hand against Rusty's cheek. "Rusty," he said, and he could hear the smile of sheer joy shining through his voice. "Oh, Rusty. Everything's alright now."

There was a lot they still had to talk about. But right now, as Rusty leaned forwards and let Saul hug him tightly, as Danny stepped up behind, his hand on Rusty's shoulder...right now, everything was just fine in Saul's world.

* * *

**A/N: And that is largely the end of the story! There will be an epilogue though. In the meantime, please let me know what you think.**


	41. Epilogue

**A/N: And this, at long last, is the end of this story. Hope you've enjoyed it. And as always, I want to thank InSilva for her immeasurable help, patience and understanding, for listening when I complain that something isn't working right, for suggesting improvements every step of the way, for following me when I start talking about something random that might or might not happen ten chapters hence, for pointing out when my punctuation has gone AWOL, for making the fic _better _than I ever could. Not to mention that she's the one whose idea it was to put Saul through all this in the first place. :) Thanks, mate. You put up with a _lot._**

* * *

A week later and Saul was finally beginning to relax, finally beginning to believe that it was all over.

He'd taken Rusty back to see Walt first of all, and Walt had treated him while listing all the many, many ways that running away from hospital was stupid. For once, Rusty didn't seem to mind the lecture. In fact, Saul was pretty sure he hadn't even noticed. Too busy gazing at Danny like he still couldn't quite believe this was real.

They stayed in the safe house for another day, until Walt was absolutely satisfied. Getting out of town was looking like a good move, but Saul still wanted to be sure that the boys were absolutely fit enough to travel.

Bobby had still been sorting out details in New York at that point and they hadn't had much of an opportunity to actually speak, but Saul had to figure that at the very least, the cops were looking for Rusty. Walt wasn't the only one who was against breaking out of hospitals after all. And, since Mike was sitting in a jail cell, he really did have no way of knowing _who _might come looking for them. Mike had all their names after all. And not everything he'd done to get the boys back had been anywhere close to legal. If Mike didn't keep his mouth shut...well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. If he had to change his name and move across the country, so what? Rusty and Danny were safe and that was all he truly cared about.

Healing was slow to happen. Not that he was planning on making a big deal out of it, but he didn't think the boys had been out of each other's sight since they were reunited. He wasn't so sure they'd actually stopped touching.

For conveniences sake - for more than convenience's sake - Rusty and Danny shared a bed in one of the rooms while Ruby and Lizzie had the other one. They spent most of their time sleeping or resting at least, talking in low voices or not talking at all. He caught sight of more than a couple of nightmares and he cursed the mark that Patrick had left.

It was a little after that when he gathered up everything that Patrick had sent him and carefully burned it all away to nothing. He watched the last tape, the one with Rusty that he hadn't seen, dissolve into smoke and ash, and his fist was clenched tight and part of him wished that Patrick was alive so he could have the satisfaction of killing him himself.

Everything that he'd done...all the pain, all the fear. Patrick had got off easy.

The second day the three of them, plus Ruby and Lizzie, said goodbye to Walt, drove out to the airport and caught a flight down to Vegas.

Far away and familiar at the same time. He hoped that would help.

Reuben had been pleased to see them, and he'd gazed anxiously at the visible injuries and, despite his frantic need-to-know, at Saul's look he'd avoided asking any questions, contenting himself with showing them to the suite and promising them anything they needed.

He meant it too. And they could stay here as long as they liked. It was a reassuring sort of thought and he watched as the boys fell into a comfortable routine of rest and room service and TV.

True to his word, Reuben had found Ruby and Lizzie an apartment in a nice area of town and promised that they could stay there as long as they liked. Ruby had stared at Reuben suspiciously for a long moment, then looked to Saul, like she was asking if he really meant it.

He nodded and smiled. "It's fine, Ruby."

"You got a job waiting," Reuben added benevolently. "But it'll wait until you feel up to it."

She smiled slowly, thankfully. "Meeting you was the best thing that's happened to us in a long time," she told Saul, and instantly she gasped and bit her lip. "I, uh, I didn't mean...I mean, obviously your sons are – "

" – I know what you meant," Saul cut in reassuringly, ignoring the curious look that Reuben was shooting him, and the thoughtful smile. "It's fine. I'm glad things are going well for you."

And besides. As they stayed settled in Vegas, the boys were doing better.

Bruises yellowed. Cuts closed over. Pain faded to a bearable level. The beginning of healing, but Danny still couldn't comfortably stand for any length of time, and Rusty tensed if anything came close to touching his back.

(_And Danny quietly panicked if Rusty left the room, and Rusty sometimes found it hard to look at Saul, and neither of them liked it when the door was closed. But that would just take _time._)_

Reuben came over most evenings and the four of them would play cards and talk and no matter how long they'd known each other, there were always new stories to be shared, old stories to be remembered. These were the people he cared about and in other circumstances Saul would be treasuring these moments.

* * *

It was almost three days before Bobby called them with news and he sounded exhausted. Saul winced; just because this was over didn't mean Bobby had got a chance to relax.

"Okay," Bobby said through the speaker phone once they'd all gathered around. It's mostly good news. First of all, Mike is keeping his mouth shut. His story is that this was all Patrick's plan and he has no idea what Patrick was doing. He's not naming names, he's not saying anything. Reading between the lines, he's afraid the people who got Patrick are going to come for him." He snorted. "Not likely."

Saul gave a sigh of relief. That was something at least. If Mike had been intent on shouting their names from the rooftops, someone might just have sat up and started taking notice.

"Like I said," Bobby went on reluctantly. "That's the good news. Unfortunately the police have nothing to hold Mike on."

_What? _

"Sorry," Bobby said regretfully. "_We _know what he did. There's no witnesses, no victim...no visible crime. He's going to be released later today."

The anger raced through him. Oh, that wasn't _fair. _He'd seen what Mike had done. Not just to Rusty and Danny, to Ruby too. Mike was far from innocent here. He looked quickly over to the sofa and Rusty's eyes were carefully blank and Danny's expression was tight with anger.

Some time soon Mike would answer for what he did. Right along with Harvey and Rex from the strip club.

"Okay," Danny said crisply, adding "Thanks, Bobby," with a sincere smile and Bobby would be able to hear it even if he couldn't see it.

"You hear anything about the shooters?" Saul asked, because there was someone else who might be looking for them.

"Just enough to know that it's not going anywhere," Bobby assured them, stifling a yawn. "With Patrick dead, the mob aren't interested in anyone else who was involved. They're keeping their heads down and the police have no leads that are going anywhere. As a matter of fact, they're up to their necks in an official enquiry. Looks like several people are going to lose their jobs. Including my old friend Morris." There was a note of anger and betrayal in Bobby's voice.

"But you're alright, yeah?" Rusty checked. They'd swapped stories days ago. Rusty knew about the arrest and he'd been worried.

"Cleared of all wrong doing," Bobby assured them, a smile in his voice. "Privately the captain told me that the idea of me working with crooks was laughable."

Saul snorted. When he'd first heard Bobby's cover story he'd been convinced it couldn't last. Now nothing surprised him.

He grew serious. Because there were a couple of questions left, and they were the ones that were really frightening him. "Rusty's father – "

" – No sign of him," Bobby cut in quickly. "Apparently he told the cops that he doesn't know anything and hasn't seen Rusty in over a year."

"Three years," Rusty corrected quietly, with a sigh that might have been relief.

Somehow, despite everything he knew about Rusty's father, despite having met the man, the fact that he had heard Rusty was in hospital and hadn't cared still shocked Saul. The stupid bastard really had no idea what he'd thrown away.

"Are the cops looking for Rusty?" Danny cut in, his face tight, like he wanted to get the conversation as far away from the subject as possible.

"No," Bobby said slowly. He sighed. "Not actively, anyway. Far as they're concerned, Rusty is a victim and he's unlikely to know anything relevant. Unless you do something stupid like get arrested in the next few months, you should be in the clear Rusty."

Rusty frowned. "Not that that's not good, but _why? _Would've thought they'd want to know what I was doing there in the first place."

There was silence that somehow managed to signify Bobby's deep unhappiness. "They're assuming they already know," he said at last. "The way you were found, what you were wearing..." Saul remembered the sight and shivered. God, that had been one of the worst moments of his life. "Even some of your injuries," Bobby continued. "They assumed Patrick was – "

" – he wasn't," Rusty said levelly, looking at Saul and Danny in turn, insistently cutting off any doubt.

"I know," Bobby said, but there was a note of relief in his voice nonetheless. "I didn't exactly go out of my way to suggest otherwise though. I'm sorry, but it's the most plausible explanation, and the quickest way to stop them looking for you."

"It's fine, Bobby," Rusty said immediately, reassuringly.

Saul wasn't so certain. He didn't want people thinking that had happened to Rusty. But he could hear the apology in Bobby's voice and it wasn't like he couldn't see the logic.

"I made sure your name got nowhere near the press," Bobby went on, and this at least Saul was thankful for. "And I got your prints deleted from the records. Both of you."

"Thanks, Bobby," Danny said quietly.

"No problem," Bobby said. "They shouldn't have kept them _anyway. _It's completely against procedure."

The indignance in his voice made Saul smile and shake his head. Still. Sometime soon he was going to have to try and get the story behind how they'd been arrested in the first place.

"Thanks for everything, Bobby," Rusty added seriously. "We appreciate – "

" – I didn't do anything you wouldn't have done," Bobby cut in firmly. "And I'd do the same anytime. You know that."

Saul certainly knew that. But that didn't mean he wasn't grateful. "Thank you anyway," he said quietly. He owed Bobby more than he could ever hope to repay.

"Of course," Bobby said, equally seriously, one father to another. He cleared his throat. "I'm heading back home to Molly and Linus today. You take care of yourselves, you hear me? I'll see you when I see you."

They said their goodbyes and the phone was hung up.

Danny was looking at Rusty and a silent question was being asked, a silent conversation held.

Saul headed to the kitchen to fix himself a drink, suddenly exhausted.

"Going to need to find a dentist in town," he remembered a few moments later, the taste of whisky burning his mouth. He'd been meaning to suggest it for a few days. Walt had said they'd be able to get implants or something similar. Something that would mean that no one would ever know what Patrick had done. What Saul had _seen _Patrick do. (_What Patrick had done _because _of Saul._)

"Reuben will know someone," Danny suggested with an easy shrug.

Yeah, that had been what Saul was figuring on. He blinked; Rusty was looking unhappy, or rather was carefully hiding his unhappiness so Saul doubted that anyone outside this room would ever notice. "It can keep until you feel up to it," he pointed out gently. He figured that Rusty probably didn't want to go outside until his visible bruises had faded away completely. Rusty never liked drawing attention if he could hide it.

"Sure," Rusty nodded, and somehow Saul knew that hadn't been what was worrying him.

Well, he supposed that lots of people didn't like dentists.

"It won't be that bad," Danny said reassuringly.

"You have a bad experience when you were a kid?" Saul asked sympathetically, and he remembered seeing a dentist or two who hadn't exactly gone out of their way to make it pleasant. Reuben would know someone who'd know someone who was reliable though. They could count on that.

Rusty shrugged. "Something like that," he agreed.

Saul's eyes narrowed and he'd had more than two years of listening to what Rusty _didn't _say. "This is your first time." And that meant that the closest feeling Rusty had was...he hid the shudder at the memory of the pliers and smiled instead. "Sounds like you have a lot of stickers and lollipops owed then."

"You used to get stickers every time you went," Rusty remembered, turning to Danny.

Danny grinned. "You always stole my lollipop. Nothing changes."

Saul was smiling but he was already making plans. Whoever Reuben found, Saul would talk to him beforehand. Make sure that Danny could stay with Rusty. Make sure that Rusty understood that the painkillers were non-negotiable.

Didn't matter what the problem was, how trivial it was, he wanted to take care of them.

* * *

_Late at night and Saul had woken up in the middle of the night, hearing a noise out in the main room, and he was out of bed in a flash, fear throbbing through him, suffused by an unaccountable sense of dread. He didn't know what he was afraid of. He only knew he was afraid._

_He opened the door slowly._

_Danny lay on the floor, feet away, his eyes fixed and staring at the ceiling.. The hypodermic was lying abandoned next to him. His face was twisted with pain and fear. The agony he'd felt while he was dying..._

_Saul's hand was pressed against his mouth, keeping the screaming inside._

_"Did you think I'd leave without saying goodbye?" Patrick giggled and when Saul looked he was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, admiring what he'd done._

_Somehow, the gun was in Saul's hand and he raised it and fired blindly, again and again, and then suddenly Patrick was holding Rusty like he had before, his knife pressed against Rusty's face, and Rusty's body jerked wildly as the bullets tore through him and Saul could only watch in horror._

_Rusty was on the floor and Saul knelt beside him, searching desperately for a pulse and it was weak and fluttering away and the blood was _everywhere, _he was kneeling in it, his hands were covered, and Rusty was looking at him now, betrayal and bewilderment, and he was dying and Saul had to say _something, _but the words wouldn't come and Patrick was _laughing...

He woke up abruptly, shaking and drenched in sweat and automatically he held his hands to his face, squinting in the darkness, looking for the blood.

Nothing.

God, just a nightmare.

Patrick was dead and Rusty and Danny were safe and it was all over. He kept telling himself that but his subconscious wasn't convinced and the adrenaline was still screaming through him.

It wasn't like he was going to get back to sleep now _anyway. _He might as well get up. See for himself that there wasn't a scene of horror in the living room.

He got up as quietly as he could and walked out of his room. Somewhat to his surprise the lights were on, and he blinked against the brightness, looking round to see what was going on.

Rusty was sitting at the kitchen counter, a cigarette in his hand. Another one sat in an ash tray beside him, burned away to nothing.

He smiled when he saw Saul and his eyes were tired.

"You're up late," Saul commented, glancing at the clock. Twenty past two. Definitely the middle of the night. "Couldn't sleep?"

Rusty shrugged indistinctly.

Saul nodded. "I was going to make some hot chocolate," he offered. "You want some?" He hadn't been going to, but it wasn't a bad idea. And he thought Rusty would like it.

A smile and Rusty nodded.

"Haven't seen you smoke for a while," he commented as neutrally as he could while he poured milk into the pan and waited for it to heat up.

There was no answer and Saul turned round in time to see the flicker of guilt on Rusty's face, and see him stub out the cigarette.

He smiled, and he had to admit he approved. Not that he was going to say anything. "Danny still asleep?" he checked casually.

Rusty nodded wearily and Saul wasn't surprised. If Danny was awake, he'd have undoubtedly been out here too.

Turning back to the stove, he waited in silence until the chocolate was done, and he added a generous slug of whisky to both mugs, and a large handful of marshmallows to the one he put in front of Rusty and the smile of warmth and gratitude that came his way banished the last of the nightmare.

For a little while they sat in silence and drank the chocolate, and if Rusty was more comfortable not talking, Saul wasn't going to push him.

"Ruby's got her first shift tomorrow," he told Rusty easily instead. "From the sound of things, she's looking forward to it." Naturally, Reuben had been true to his word, and given her a job. She was starting in one of the quieter bars, on the dayshift, and that was probably a good thing. Reuben had told her again and again that she didn't have to start until she was feeling completely healed, but she'd insisted. "I think she might come over afterwards," he added. "Once she's picked Lizzie up from daycare. She said she wanted to tell us all about it."

He caught the air of amusement and gave a mock scowl. They both knew that Ruby hadn't meant she'd tell _them. _He didn't mind; she was a nice girl and quite apart from everything else, he wanted her to do well.

"Should I be reminding you of that lawyer?" he asked, eyebrows raised and Rusty had the grace to pretend to look abashed.

On the morning they'd left town, they'd gone round to see a lawyer. Saul was pretty sure it had been Danny's idea. They'd stayed up half the night discussing it in low voices and in the morning they'd told Saul how it was going to be. The idea was simple enough; Danny didn't want to be in a situation where he couldn't get in to see Rusty, not ever again. And certainly _no one _wanted to run the risk of Rusty's father getting anywhere near him. The boys wanted to be each other's next of kin and that was understandable enough.

Jacques had found them a lawyer. His cousin's niece or something Saul thought - he'd only been half listening to the details. Nepotism had its advantages anyway and they were able to walk into the office with barely ten minutes notice.

The lawyer was terribly young, that was the first thing Saul noticed. Maybe it was just the way that _everyone _was starting to look young, but she didn't look old enough to be here.

From the moment they'd walked into her office, the lawyer had looked at Danny, and especially Rusty, with an expression of wide-eyed horror. At a guess, her normal clients didn't look quite so comprehensively beaten.

"Please come in and sit down," she told them hastily and she barely even glanced at Saul. "Can I get you anything? Some coffee, water...a cushion or something?"

"We're fine," Danny said easily.

"Thank you," Rusty added with a dazzling smile that only served fo fluster her further. "Did Jacques tell you why we're here, Miss..."

"Catherine," she interjected. "Please. And yes, he did, which was something of a relief. When Uncle Jacques told me that some friends of his needed a favour, I have to admit I was expecting something more questionable."

"Nah," Rusty assured her. "It's all on the up and up."

"Well, that's good," she said, smiling. "I just qualified this year. I don't want to do anything that would get me disbarred this quickly."

"Nice to know you're not ruling it out for the future," Danny had joined in, and from then on the conversation flowed lightly and easily and after a couple of hours they were all set with the paperwork and Catherine had been firmly drawn in to the strange network that surrounded DannyandRusty.

That had been then and Saul had hoped it might go some way towards easing Danny's mind about the possibility of this happening again. Thing was, there was no easy fixes.

He looked at Rusty and smiled. "Drink up your chocolate before it gets cold," he suggested gently.

Rusty nodded and wrapped his hands around the mug. He looked utterly exhausted and Saul's heart ached.

He suspected that Rusty was about as cheerful about the prospect of going back to sleep as _he _was.

"Funny thing," he said, and his eyes were deliberately fixed on the steam rising from the mug in front of him, not even glancing at Rusty. "Even when something like this is over, it isn't _over_, you know? We still have to deal with the nightmares." He pretended not to notice when Rusty tensed. "Tonight I dreamt that Patrick came back. Came after you and Danny." He took a deep breath as he remembered blood, pain, blame and the end of the world, and he forced the thought away. "Now, I _know_ that's never going to happen. I know that's impossible. Doesn't mean it doesn't scare me. Doesn't mean I'm in a hurry to close my eyes and see it again."

Silence fell for a few moments and he knew Rusty was looking at him, knew Rusty was considering his words.

"It gets easier with time, Rusty," he said softly and now he _was _looking at Rusty, and Rusty was the one to quickly look away. But he was still listening and Saul continued. "It's not like you're ever going to forget." He snorted. "_I'm _never going to forget. But it will get better. And you're not alone. I promise you'll never be alone."

"Thanks, Saul." The whisper was nearly inaudible.

He smiled and didn't say anything.

"I keep waking up back in the basement," Rusty began abruptly. "Danny's lying in front of me, a few feet away, and he's..." He bit his lip hard. "But somehow I know that if I can just reach him, I can save him, but my hands are cuffed to the pipe and no matter what I do I can't get close. And then suddenly Patrick's there and he...and you..." He broke off, shaking his head, visibly fighting for self control.

Silently, Saul reached out and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly and Rusty smiled at him.

"I keep telling myself it's just a dream," he added. "Danny's fine. You're both fine. But like you said. I don't want to see it again."

No. God, Saul didn't want him to see it again. All the things he couldn't protect Rusty from.

Rusty scrubbed at his eyes irritably with the back of his hand. "I'd have thought after last time..." He trailed off and glanced over at Saul quickly, shutting his mouth abruptly.

Saul didn't react beyond a sympathetic smile. Not like he thought this was the first time Rusty had been hurt. Not like he thought there hadn't been other occasions of pain and nightmares. "Danny is fine," he reminded Rusty. "I'm fine. Just give it some time."

"Yeah." Rusty nodded tiredly and glanced at Saul keenly. "Guess that goes for you, too."

Right now, Saul couldn't imagine the nightmares ever going away. And, when he thought about how this had been all his fault, he wasn't so sure he deserved a peaceful night's sleep. But that was now, and he knew that in times, the nightmares would cease, and even if the guilt never faded, the memories would.

(_His_memories would_.)_

In time, only the worst would stand out, and the rest would be a jumble of pain and fear and desperation and waiting.

Rusty was looking at him, his brow creased, and when Saul looked up, he glanced away quickly.

"What?" Saul asked patiently.

A sigh, and Rusty was rubbing the outside of his mouth agitatedly. "It's just..." He glanced over his shoulder quickly, checking the door to his and Danny's room, and he seemed satisfied when there was no sign of Danny. "In the warehouse," he went on, swallowing hard. "Patrick asked who you..." He bit his lip and Saul doubted he was capable of finishing that sentence. "You chose me."

Oh, God. Almost, he wished they didn't have to talk about this. But he could see the hurt in Rusty's eyes, the shame, the confusion and the questions, and Rusty deserved some answers. "It wasn't deliberate," he told Rusty softly. "I didn't mean to - "

" - But you did," Rusty interrupted evenly. "And you didn't choose Danny."

He could hear the hurt in Rusty's voice and he thought of Rusty spending that long day thinking Danny was dead, because of Saul, and he winced. "I didn't mean to choose either of you," he told Rusty, his voice almost steady. "I'd never do that."

For a long moment Rusty just looked at him, and then he nodded. "I know."

"I'm sorry," Saul added, soft and sincere.

Rusty looked down at his hands. "Wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been so fucking weak," he said under his breath.

For a moment, Saul wasn't even sure he'd heard right. Then his hand flashed across the table and he gripped Rusty's wrist tightly. "Would you care to repeat that?" he said, and there was an edge to his voice.

Rusty blinked at him and his mouth was set stubbornly. "You chose me because I was weak," he said, with agonising conviction and the anger in his voice was growing, and Saul didn't know which of them it was aimed at. "Dad always said I was and he was right. Couldn't fucking keep my mouth shut when he was beating on me, couldn't do it with Patrick. You see? Dad was right."

"Your _father_ has never been right about anything in his life," Saul snapped and part of him wanted to phone Bobby up right now and get that address that the cops had so he could track the bastard down and express the full force of his displeasure all over again, and maybe this time there'd be nothing left. "He is an ignorant, violent thug who has no idea who you are."

Rusty blinked. "But I stood there shaking with fear like a - "

" - you listen to me, Rusty," Saul cut in firmly, and he was still holding Rusty's wrist, but his thumb stroked comfortingly over Rusty's forearm. "I know what Patrick did to you. You think anyone could go through _that _and just walk away afterwards like nothing had happened? That doesn't make you _weak._" The word was harsh leaving his lips. "Right at that moment, you were more vulnerable and I was frightened for you. I was frightened for both of you. But I've _never _thought of you as weak. Not for a second."

Rusty stared at him for a long second, searching desperately for truth and Saul let him see it. Then Rusty closed his eyes and the breath was slow and shuddering and it was like some of the weight had been lifted away.

Not all of it though.

"What?" he asked gently.

"What Patrick said...I mean...Danny isn't...I don't..." He was floundering, the words stumbling incoherently over each other, and his cheeks were flushed dull red in awkward unhappiness. Clearly Rusty didn't want to talk about this. Clearly Rusty didn't have the first clue _how _to talk about this.

And Saul wished he didn't have to. But it was clear he _needed _to. Not that he had any intention of forcing him to say it out loud. "It's not as simple as that, Rusty," he said, holding up a hand calmingly. "Yes; the way I feel about you is different. But I care about both of you, you know that." He thought back to that moment in the warehouse when he'd thought Danny was going to die and shivered. "I never want either of you hurt. Not for anything."

Rusty was looking at him, absorbing every word.

Under normal circumstances Saul wasn't exactly prone to being overtly demonstrative or affectionate. He knew how he felt after all. And he knew perfectly well that Rusty wasn't comfortable with the obvious and the emotional, and in all the time he'd known Rusty they'd _never _talked directly about how they felt. But right now, after hearing Rusty quote his _father's _words – and just the thought was enough to set Saul's soul screaming – right now, he thought that maybe there were one or two things that Rusty needed to hear.

"That last week was probably the worst of my life," he told Rusty softly, and his hand was resting gently on top of Rusty's. "The moment I got that first note I was terrified out of my mind. For both of you." He took a deep breath and squeezed Rusty's hand. "Patrick was right about one thing. You're the son I never expected to have. I could thank God for you every minute of every day and it still wouldn't be enough." He smiled at Rusty with all the warmth, affection and love that was in his heart. "I'm more proud of you than you can ever imagine."

Rusty blinked back tears furiously, but made no attempt to move his hand away. "Saul, I..." He shrugged helplessly and smiled suddenly, warmly, and it transformed him beyond all reason. He was open and bright and _young_, and Saul could see all the layers of affection and love overwhelming.

"I know," he told Rusty gently. "It's okay."

Rusty nodded. "Sometimes I wish..." He trailed off.

It didn't matter. Saul knew. Oh, he knew. Not like he hadn't wished the same thing. Wished that Rusty had always been his to protect and look after and guide. Rusty _should _have been his. They both should. He would have made sure they had a happy childhood. He'd have kept them safe...

Except he hadn't managed to keep them safe lately, had he?

There was an ostentatious noise from the bedroom behind them as Danny opened the door and stepped into the main room. Evidently he wanted them to know he was up and in earshot, and that rather made Saul suspect that he might have actually got up a few minutes before.

"We having a slumber party?" Danny asked with a yawn, as he walked further into the room.

Saul watched the silent exchange of '_Are you okays' _and the equally-silent apology from Rusty. Not like Danny would enjoy waking up to find Rusty gone.

"Well, we got hot chocolate and marshmallows," Rusty nodded. "That close enough?"

In answer, Danny grabbed the bottle of whisky and poured himself a glass. "Should do nicely," he said, sitting down heavily beside Rusty with a sideways grin.

For some reason seeing them there together had Saul remembering his dream. Remembering how close he'd come to losing them. Remembering it had all been his fault. "I should talk to you," he said seriously. "Both of you."

"Sounds ominous," Danny said carefully, and his eyes were fixed on Saul's.

He took a deep breath. "This happened because of me. Patrick tortured you because of me. Because he knew how much it would hurt me. And I'm _sorry._" His voice was hoarse. "I should never – "

" – Saul," Rusty cut in and his eyes were hard and inescapable. "No."

"Definitely not," Danny agreed.

They both talked quickly, words tripping over each other, urgent and reassuring and sincere.

"Yes, Patrick came after you through us – "

" – but it isn't – "

" – we'd _never _blame you."

"Not for a second."

"We don't blame you. It's not your fault," Rusty finished firmly.

"It's not like we've never made any enemies," Danny went on, leaning back in his seat, his eyes dark and intense. "This...this could have been the other way around." He shook his head quickly, involuntarily, as if he was trying to escape whatever his imagination had shown him. "You trying to tell us that if some _bastard _hurt you trying to get to us, you'd blame me? You'd blame Rus'?"

_Never. _He nodded, unwillingly conceding the point.

"We all chose this line of work," Rusty took over, his voice soft and unshakeable. "We all know 's dangerous. What's the alternative? Not caring about anyone? Not letting anyone close in case they get hurt? That really what you want, Saul?"

There was another layer to Rusty's words, another story Rusty was silently asking him to remember. When he'd first met them, it had seemed like they didn't let anyone close. Rusty especially, maybe. No one knew them. They existed in splendid isolation. And whether it was true or not, Rusty saw Saul as the one who had changed all that. And for him to take anything less for himself...that would be cowardice.

He sighed. "No. That's not what I want," he admitted. Not for them, not for himself.

"Well, good then," Danny said lightly.

"I'm still sorry," he told them.

They shared a long look and Rusty leaned forwards. "Saul – "

" – you came after us."

"No one – "

" – not _ever,_" Danny emphasised.

"Even if there was any blame," Rusty added. "Which there isn't – "

" – that more than makes up for it," Danny finished, and they were both looking at him and they meant every word.

He nodded and for a moment he couldn't speak. He'd come so close to losing them and now...now it was like the sun was shining just for him. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Rusty smiled at him and Danny grinned. "You hear what Reuben was saying about his friend Denny?" he asked. "Now there's something we might want to think about."

"In a few weeks," Saul cautioned, despite the smile creeping up on him. "When you're feeling better."

"In a few weeks," Danny agreed innocently.

"Doesn't mean we can't think about it, "Rusty added cheerfully, pouring them all another shot of whisky.

He shook his head and smiled. The luckiest he'd ever have had been the day he'd found himself sat in the wrong bar in Vegas and Rusty and Danny had walked into his life.

He wouldn't change this for the world.

* * *

**A/N: And that is that. Hope you enjoyed the story and if you could take the time to review, it's always much appreciated. **


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